As he looked at her, he didn't see a partner; he saw a collection of broken vows. He knew that the tears she was starting to shed would only stop when he was finally gone—not because they’d find peace, but because there would be no one left to promise anything to. He picked up his keys, leaving the echoes of her voice in the empty room, finally choosing the silence of the night over the noise of her empty promises.
When she finally walked through the door, the air in the room shifted from quiet to heavy. She moved to kiss him, a reflex born of habit rather than heat, but he turned his head. As he looked at her, he didn't see
The scandals and the gossip she brought home had started to swirl inside him like a storm he couldn't outrun. He had reached a breaking point where the "limitless happiness" he thought he deserved had been replaced by a daily routine of suffering. When she finally walked through the door, the
"Stop," he said, his voice as tired as the song playing softly in the background. "Stop the kisses and stop the lies." He had reached a breaking point where the