A Quiet Sadness Remains

t, low-grade nausea a permanent resident in my stomach. The architectural models in my studio, once a source of pride, now se

with Chloe. He' d describe their intellectual breakthroughs, the way their minds seemed to connect on a higher plane, while I sat across the dinner table, pushing food around my plate, a si

. I just needed something for the headache, something to help me sleep, some small chemical intervention to get me through the next 24

at the gallery," he said, his voice loud over the chatter in the backg

," I said, the l

are so tense at home." He wasn't asking if I was okay. He was telling me that my pain was inconvenie

t. I pushed it open and saw her. Chloe was standing in the middle of our living room,

you don't mind. Ethan said I could grab this. We're havi

g my home, my sanctuary, with a casual

ice shaking with a rage

no need for jealousy. What you and Ethan have is..

. "He's wasted on you, you know. You're an architect. You bui

yell. I didn't cry. I just stood my

stumbled back, catching my balance on the edge of a console table. In a flash of movement I didn't fully process, she su

eked, her voice a pitch-perfe

n. He saw Chloe on the floor, clutching her arm, tears welling in her eyes. H

beside her, his hands hovering over her as if she wer

ask of fury and disgust. "Ava! W

l blow. He didn't ask. He didn't even look for my side of the story. In

that cold, silent moment, I felt the last flicker of love I had for him die. It wasn't a fiery death. It was a quiet, chilling extinctio