The sound of a zipper closing can feel louder than any argument.
It was an ordinary Tuesday evening in late October. Gray skies, a quiet house, leftovers cooling on the stove. Emily sat on the couch pretending to read while her husband, Mark, stood near the door packing a duffel bag.
At first, she assumed it was for the gym. Then she noticed the socks. The shirts. His favorite hoodie.
She didn’t ask what he was doing. Deep down, she already knew.
“Emily,” he said flatly.
No pet name. He hadn’t used one in months.
“This isn’t working anymore.”
When she asked what he meant, his answer landed without mercy. He told her she had “let herself go.” That he wanted someone who prioritized fitness. Someone like Claire — a much younger woman from his gym.
He didn’t ask about her stress.
He didn’t mention her long hours, her promotions, or the way she carried the household financially.
He reduced seven years of marriage to a number on a scale.
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