Nora.

The candles on the table were burning low when the raspy sound of a key broke the oppressive silence of the apartment. It was well past midnight. Maya didn't even look up—she recognized Nora's careless step and the scent of someone else's perfume lingering in her wake.

Their five-year relationship was crumbling. For months, Nora squeezed Maya dry, leaving only cold, ignoring her in return. But three weeks ago, something worse happened: betrayal.

"You're late," Maya said quietly. A fresh, poorly covered mark was red on Nora's neck.

“Traffic, dear,” Nora lied easily, pouring herself some water.

— Her again? You promised this would stop.

Nora turned with a patronizing smile. There was no trace of guilt on her face—only satisfaction at Maya's jealousy.

"I'm bored," Nora came closer and caressed a curl of hair behind the girl's ear. "Your jealousy is almost endearing. But let's be honest: just being my girlfriend isn't enough for you to be the only one. If you want me to look only at you, try harder."

Every word cynically shifted blame. But it was at that moment that something inside Maya finally broke. Despair gave way to sober peace. She shook off Nora's hand and looked her straight in the eyes.

"I won't try anymore, Nora," Maya said evenly.