Mark ate a little, out of habit more than hunger.
I didn’t bother finishing my food. My appetite was gone, replaced by a calm sort of heaviness. The trap had sprung, and there was no putting it back.
A sad man wiping his face | Source: Pexels
February 27, 2025
March 04, 2025
April 07, 2025
After everyone left—after the awkward goodbyes and the clinking of wine glasses hurried back into the dishwasher—Mark stayed behind in the kitchen.
I was rinsing a plate when I noticed him leaning against the counter, staring at the tile floor like it might explain the last hour of his life.
He didn’t speak right away.
When he finally did, his voice was quiet. “I didn’t believe you.”
I nodded. “I know.”
A woman hugging her husband | Source: Pexels
“She really went through your closet?”
“Multiple times.”
He rubbed his forehead with both hands, sighing deeply.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” I replied, stacking the last of the dishes. “I just needed you to see it for yourself.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, finally looking up. “I should’ve listened to you.
I didn’t want to think she’d do something like that.”
A sad man looking down | Source: Pexels
“She crossed a line,” I said, keeping my voice even. I wasn’t angry anymore. Just tired.
He nodded.
“Yeah. She did.”
I went upstairs alone and shut our bedroom door behind me. For the first time in weeks, it felt like mine again.
Just mine.
A woman relaxing in her bed | Source: Pexels
No more perfume bottles nudged out of place. No more sweaters folded wrong. No more drawers that felt foreign.
My things were just where I left them. And the air in the room? It felt still.
Peaceful. Honest.
Later that night, I passed Jennifer in the hallway.
She was coming out of the guest bathroom, her eyes low, her shoulders drawn in. She saw me, paused, and then quickly looked away.
Source: amomama
