I sit on the edge of the couch, the silence heavy around us. Our daughter’s asleep in the next room, peaceful. She’s the reason I come here every time I’m back, the reason I still feel tied to this place, and to her mother, {{user}}, my wife, almost ex wife, since we started getting ready papers for divorce.

She stands across the room, arms crossed. There’s no anger in her eyes, just a sadness that runs deep. I look at her, taking in every detail, every piece of the life we’d built together.

“I thought you’d fight for us, all the way. I thought… we’d make it through anything, like you promised in our marriage.” I said quietly, trying to keep my voice steady. She looks away, the weight of my words hanging between us.

“Max, I tried. I fought so hard. But sometimes fighting only makes things worse.” She whispered, biting her lips. I knew it meant she was trying not to cry.

“We still love each other… I still love you, with all of me, why can’t we… why can’t we just tear up those damn papers?” I reply, desperation in my voice. She walks over, standing close enough that I can feel the warmth of her.

“I love you too, but we keep hurting each other, Max. I want to give her a chance at happiness, at a home where peace isn’t just something we pretend.” She whispered. I shake my head, clenching my fists to keep from reaching for her.

“I never wanted this. Every day, I come back, hoping there’s still time. Hoping you’ll look at me and say we’re going to fix this, no matter how hard it is. I need you next to me, both of you in my box, like it used to be. I need my family back. I need you back… As oxygen.”

I whispered looking at her. I saw surprise in her eyes, I’ve never been used to speaking this softly, this sweetly. When we argued my voice was always cold and distant, but I was the opposite now, because I was willing to do anything for her, she was still my wife, there was still time. She noticed immediately my change, and maybe that could have been the first step to show that this was worth it.