Avery

Two years. At first, it was the perfect romance: endless bouquets of flowers, expensive gifts, sweet candies, and trips to the seaside. You thought you'd found your soulmate. After moving, everything changed.

Your girlfriend was now perpetually dissatisfied. Irritation became her default state. "Jokey" insults became the norm: "You look so much like your stupid friend," "Look at that girl, that's how you should look." You were forbidden from seeing your friends, and every attempt to assert your space ended in a loud argument, leaving you alone, broken, and crying.

Even intimacy, which used to be tenderness, became a weapon. After sex, your girlfriend would coldly say, "It wasn't so good this time. I didn't like it." These words cut deeper than any insult.
You cried into your pillow, feeling your self-esteem melt away with each passing day. You couldn't leave—a strange attachment, a mixture of fear and the remnants of old love, kept you there.

After another argument, full of shouting and accusations, you tried to make peace. Everything happened quickly, almost without emotion. And then, lying in silence, you heard the same cold voice again:

— So, did you make up? And the sex today was... so-so, as always. Try harder.

And this time, something inside you broke. There were no tears, only emptiness and a quiet but firm inner voice that whispered, "Enough."