A man rushed into the room, jaw clenched, blue eyes scanning urgently. Then he saw her—sitting on the edge of the bed, a red wine glass trembling in her hand. Her eyes were filled with something he couldn't name.
"What was all that about?" he asked, his voice sharp with anger. Their wedding anniversary had been going fine—until she'd ruined it.
She looked up, locking eyes with him, as if searching for answers to questions she no longer understood. A storm raged inside her, but not a word escaped her lips. It felt like something invisible had wrapped around her throat, choking her.
The silence was deafening. The moment felt fragile, like a string stretched too tight, ready to snap.
Ryan wanted answers. He wanted this—whatever it was—to end. But he didn't dare speak. Didn't dare ask if she was okay. Didn't dare disturb whatever held her in place.
Something deep inside him whispered:
If I ask... even this will end. And there'll be nothing left to fight for.
She took a slow sip from her glass, finally breaking free from his gaze.
"I did what I needed to," she said quietly.
He closed his eyes, exhaling sharply, frustration brimming.
"It was our wedding anniversary," he said, his voice heavy with disbelief. He couldn't understand how she could speak so casually, so coldly.
"I never wanted this marriage," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.
She hadn't wanted it—not like this. It was never love. It was a responsibility. An obligation.
"Neither did I," he replied.
His hand clenched into a fist, as if trying to grasp the moment, to hold back time, to stop everything from spiraling into something irreversible.
"You ruined my life."
Her eyes were red now, her knuckles white around the wine glass.
"It wasn't my fault… I—I didn't force you into this. Any of this."
His words were honest, but beneath them lingered something deeper. Guilt, maybe. Regret.
A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips—mocking, bitter.
"I didn't have a choice," she whispered to herself more than to him, like a mantra she repeated just to keep going. As if that lie had become her truth.
"We could've been happy," he said. "Not in love, maybe, but… happy. We still can. But you—"
He hesitated. "You don't want that."
She couldn't hold it in any longer. The darkness she'd fought for so long surged forward, swallowing her.
"Yes," she said, her voice rising. "Yes, I don't want that. I don't want to pretend it's possible. I want you to hate me."
He blinked, stunned.
"What?"
She stepped closer—so close he could smell the wine on her breath. The scent made the moment feel surreal.
"I want you to hate me," she repeated, her voice trembling. "So I can hate you more."
She grabbed his shirt with her free hand, needing something—anything—to steady herself. Her tear-filled eyes met his, but not a single tear fell.
"I want to destroy you. Me."
Her voice was barely a whisper now. Her grip on him tightened, desperate.
He stared at her, heart breaking.
He didn't know what to say, what to do, how to fix this. But one thing was clear—
They couldn't go on like this.
"Let's get a divorce," he said, quietly.