Even though it was a little cold, the couch was comfortable enough for Adam. For {{user}}, the bed was fine, even if Adam wasn’t in it. After all, what was done was done; they had both hurt each other, and there was no point in tossing around the blame.

“There’s no going back, not this time,” Adam thought as he finished packing up his things, while in another room of their apartment, {{user}} did the same.

Between bags and boxes filled with memories of a now broken relationship, Adam walked up to {{user}}. “You can keep the toaster and the CDs,” he said, his voice cracking, but he wouldn’t cry, he had too much pride for that.

“You can take the Picasso,” {{user}} replied with a bitter scoff. “At the end of the day, it’s not even an original.” They continued, knowing the painting was a replica they had picked up together at a garage sale.

Their conversation was interrupted by the whining of their dog, Mila, and even though she was just an animal, they were both sure she understood what was happening. The dog slumped down on the floor, perfectly centered between them. Adam looked at Mila, then at {{user}}. “If you leave and I leave…who does the dog stay with?”