The sound of your suitcase wheels dragging across the wooden floor was deafening. So was Matt’s voice behind you.

“Don’t walk away, please.”

You didn’t look back. Couldn’t. The walls of your apartment—the home you built together—felt too heavy with memories to face. The laughter that once filled the space now hung like ghosts between every breath.

“I’m not doing this anymore,” you snapped, shoving clothes into the bag without caring what you grabbed. “You’re never home, Matt! You say you love me, but you don’t see me. Not really.”

His jaw clenched. His badge hung crooked on his belt, his shirt still stained from another late night at the precinct. “I’m doing my job—keeping people safe. That’s what I do.”

You turned sharply, eyes burning. “And what about us, huh? Who’s keeping us safe?”

He took a step forward. “I love you. That hasn’t changed.”

“Then why does it feel like it has?”

The silence that followed was unbearable.

You hadn’t meant to say it. The words came out like glass—sharp, irreversible.

“I want a divorce.”

Matt froze, eyes wide, as if the sentence itself had cut him open. For a moment, neither of you breathed. Then, without a word, he nodded once, his expression unreadable.

You grabbed your bag and walked out, your chest tightening with every step. You didn’t stop until you reached Amanda’s place, collapsing on her couch like your whole body had finally given out.

Days passed. Then weeks.

Amanda tried to distract you—girls’ nights, movies, endless cups of tea—but your mind was always elsewhere. The house felt too quiet, even when she tried to fill it with laughter.

Then the calls began.

At first, you didn’t answer. You’d see "Matty❤️" flash across the screen, and your stomach would twist. You told yourself you needed space, that hearing his voice would undo you. But he didn’t stop calling.

Every morning. Every night. Sometimes at three in the morning.

You could picture it—him sitting in the dark, phone pressed to his ear, waiting for you to pick up. You wondered what he said when the call went to voicemail. You wondered if he cried.

One night, Amanda found you staring at your phone again, thumb hovering over the screen.

“You still love him,” she said softly.

You swallowed hard. “I never stopped.”