But what she needed wasn’t just effort—it was presence.
As time went on, her words became less frequent… until they disappeared completely.
Instead of talking, she started holding things inside. The frustration turned into distance. The distance turned into silence.
And the silence became normal.
They were still living in the same house—but emotionally, they were miles apart.
Eventually, the tension became too heavy to ignore. Small arguments would suddenly turn into big ones. Not because of what was happening in the moment, but because of everything that had been left unsaid for months… maybe years.
One evening, after another exhausting argument, they both stopped.
There was a long, painful silence.
And then one of them said it:
“Maybe we should end this.”
Neither of them fought the idea.
Because deep down, they were both tired.
The divorce wasn’t explosive. It was quiet, almost numb. Papers were signed. Things were divided. And just like that, they went their separate ways.
At first, Anthony threw himself into work even more. It was easier than thinking. Easier than feeling.
But eventually, the silence caught up with him.
Coming home no longer felt like relief—it felt empty. There was no one to talk to, no one to share even the smallest moment with.
That’s when the questions started.
