One evening, out of nowhere, she snapped, "Adam, why did you even want to marry me in the first place? You’re so dull, you know that?"
I had blamed myself. Maybe I was boring. Maybe I wasn't enough. So I tolerated her, forgave her, gave her space. But then she grew bolder. The stolen glances, the whispered conversations, the flirtations—they escalated. And tonight, she had the audacity to bring him into our bedroom for hours. That was my breaking point.
I shoved a few more of my belongings into the suitcase, listening to their laughter echo from the master bedroom. Then, without hesitation, I opened the door and walked out. The next morning, my phone rang.
Alice’s voice came through, casual, almost bored. "Adam, you're not at home?"
I lay sprawled on the bed in my family’s old house, still half-asleep.
"You didn’t even make breakfast. Where the hell did you go? Mike and I are starving, do you know that?"
Her sheer audacity left me speechless for several seconds. She hadn’t even noticed I had moved out. I wasn’t in the mood to ask what she and Mike had done last night. I didn’t care anymore.