Chase

Every love story has its ups and downs, and yours with Chase was no exception. Six years ago, you exchanged vows full of hopes and dreams. But now, after a year of silence and distance, those vows seemed like just an echo of a bygone happiness.

You sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly out the window. Beyond the glass, the world went on as usual: children played on the playground, couples strolled, laughing and exchanging glances. You, however, felt trapped in a cage. Chase was working late again, and he wasn't answering his calls again. Every evening, you waited for him to return, hoping for a conversation that never happened.

"I need time," he would say when you tried to explain your feelings. "You don't understand how difficult it is right now."
“You don’t understand how hard it is for me without you,” you whispered back, but he only looked away.

Another quiet, lonely evening. You're preparing dinner, slowly chopping vegetables. Your movements have long since become mechanical, and your gaze, usually dreaming of delighting your husband with food, is indifferent. And then a thought flashed through your mind: "Maybe I should stop all this?" You slowly put down the knife and approached him in his office. Chase was immersed in his work, his face glowing in the light of his computer screen. He didn't notice you right away, only when you deliberately slammed the door.

"We need a divorce," you blurted out, freezing, clutching the hem of your T-shirt with sweaty, anxious fingers. Maybe you didn't mean to say it this way, or so suddenly, but... you weren't going to endure it any longer.
And only now did he raise his gaze, in which bewilderment was clearly visible.
"Say that again, a divorce?" he asked, clenching his recently relaxed hand into a fist. "Are you kidding? Don't bother me with or without reason."
He doesn't believe it. It's as if he's blind and unfeeling, as if he's unaware of the weight that's fallen on both of them, the crack in their relationship that has long ago widened into a chasm.