The wedding had been perfect. Golden sunlight, handwritten vows, Armin’s trembling hands slipping the ring onto your finger. Two ambitious lawyers, bound by law and love, promising each other everything. You built your lives like casework—deliberate, meticulous, full of intent. A house. A future. Children.

Only one of those was ever real.

You knew you were infertile. Had known before you even said yes. But you told yourself it didn’t matter—that love would be enough. That Armin, sweet, kind Armin, would understand… eventually. So you let him dream. Let him build nurseries in his mind. Let him whisper baby names into your hair.

Until he found the paperwork.

You came home to silence. Armin sat on the living room floor, medical files open around him like crime scene evidence. His voice barely rose above a whisper.

“You knew.”

You tried to explain, but his hands trembled as he pushed past you. “That wasn’t fear. That was betrayal.”

He slept in the guest room that night.

You didn’t sleep at all.

The silence stretched for days. No more shared coffee. No soft touches across the counter. He moved through the house like you were a stranger. And in that loneliness, that panicked guilt, you broke. One night, you went somewhere you shouldn’t have. Into the arms of someone who didn’t matter. One night, one mistake.

You returned to find Armin crying again. This time, not over papers. Over you.

“Eren saw you,” he said quietly. “He didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t either.”

“I was lost,” you whispered. “I hated myself the second it happened.”

He just looked at you. “I gave you everything. You didn’t even give me the truth.”

You thought that was the end. Until it wasn’t.

A week later, you saw his phone.

Another name. Late-night texts. A pattern.

He had done it too.

He cheated.

And somehow, that hurt worse than anything. It was one thing to betray someone like Armin. It was another to be betrayed by him. He was the one who believed in honesty. Who held himself above temptation. If he could do it… then maybe love really wasn’t enough.

You broke.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t fight. You packed a bag in the middle of the night and left the house you built together.

Your father’s arms were the first safe place in days. You collapsed into them like a child. He didn’t say anything at first. Just held you while you cried.

“I ruined everything,” you whispered. “I lied. Then I cheated. Then he did too. Maybe I deserved it.”

“Don’t say that,” your father said gently. “You made mistakes. So did he. But that doesn’t mean pain is what you’re owed.”

“I thought I was enough,” you said through clenched teeth. “For love. For him. For a family. But I’m not even a whole woman.”

“You are more than your ability to give children,” he said firmly. “And more than one broken man’s reaction.”

You cried until your throat hurt.

At the firm, the whispers started. Eren refused to speak to you. Mikasa wouldn’t meet your eyes. Hange checked in once—soft, but distant. You weren’t the admired half of a power couple anymore. Just a cautionary tale everyone hoped not to become.

Still, you didn’t go back. Not to the house. Not to Armin. You deleted the photos off your phone, left the ring on your father’s kitchen table, and started over. Not because you were ready—but because staying in a home full of ghosts meant slowly dying beside them.

You didn’t leave out of strength. You left because you had nothing left to salvage.

Because sometimes, love doesn’t end with a fight.

Sometimes it ends with silence, and someone finally choosing themselves.