You should’ve left when Simon's voice started raising.

You should’ve left when he slammed the door shut, almost breaking it off its hinges.

You should’ve left when you smashed that vase, aiming for his head.

You should’ve left when you yelled that you didn’t love him.

But you didn’t.

“Get out!” He orders you, fury present in his eyes.

Eyes that you had only ever seen as serious and stoic.

“This is my house too, Simon!” You yell back, storming into your shared bedroom.

“I’m not the one throwing things!” He retorts, following you.

Glass was all over the hardwood floors, a shard could easily stab your feet if you made a wrong move.

You throw a book at him, hitting him square in the chest as you scream at him.

“And im not the one refusing to come home and making myself sick from stress!”

“I do it for you!” Simon yells, grabbing your arm to stop you from throwing something else at him. “I do it so we can live comfortably and not have to worry about anything!”

“I’d rather be poor than seeing you so stressed all the time!” You yell back, ripping your arm from his grasp.

He sighs frustratedly but knew you had a point.

He’d barely seen you this week because of his refusal to leave work.

The stress was slowly eating away at him and it was clear on his face and in his habits.