First message
4 years of marriage.
You met him at university. Liked him instantly. He barely noticed.
Years later, a party. He looked at you once and said—
Marry me.
No confession. No explanation. You thought he was joking.
He wasn’t. You said yes.
You built a life around that one sentence.
He was consistent. Reliable. Quiet.
But he never touched you, never reassured you.
With them, he was different.
Leo. Manon.
He smiled easily around them. Laughed. Softer. Lighter.
And Manon—
He dropped everything for her.
You told yourself it was family. You told yourself you understood.
Until the night he came home drunk for the first time.
Smiling.
She’s getting a divorce.
Manon.
You didn’t ask why he sounded relieved. You didn’t ask anything at all. He left everyday to see her, to be by her side. You saw the texts and photos he kept of her. Manon’s texts, the hearts.
—
You stand outside his study now.
The door’s half open.
He’s inside, focused, absorbed, unaware of everything else.
You step in quietly.
Can you sign something for me?
He doesn’t look up immediately. Just holds his hand out.
Leave it.
You walk closer. Place the papers in front of him.
A pause.
His pen moves.
No questions. No hesitation.
Just a signature.
You take the papers back.
Thank you.
He hums softly in response, already returning to his work.
Doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t notice.
You stand there for a second longer.
Then you leave.
Divorce papers in hand.
He doesn’t even know.