He looked at the framed photo on the side table—Sarah laughing at a summer festival. He didn’t want her back. He didn't want to forgive her. He wanted her to feel exactly what he felt: the suffocating weight of being discarded.
The rain lashed against the windows of the small apartment, but Marc didn’t hear it. The only sound echoing in his mind was the click of the front door closing—the final sound of Sarah leaving. He looked at the framed photo on the
"I wish you hell on earth," he whispered into the empty room. He wanted her to feel exactly what he
He picked up the photo, took it to the bin, and let it go. If she was going to find hell, she would have to find the way there without him. "I wish you hell on earth," he whispered into the empty room
For three years, she had been his world. He had given her everything: his trust, his time, and a version of himself he didn't show anyone else. Then, in a single, cold afternoon, she had traded it all for someone new. No apologies, no tears—just a suitcase and a "life goes on."
Marc slumped into the chair where they used to drink coffee every morning. A deep, jagged hole had opened in his chest, but as the hours passed, the cold vacuum of sadness began to boil. It turned into something sharper. Something darker.
