Faded love, I don't want it anymore

The door closed, and the air seemed to collapse inward.

I leaned back in the chair, my chest tightening with each breath.

My phone lit up on the desk—a new message from Sybil.

“Mrs. Wendy, sorry to bother you.

Rory is here at my place tonight to work on the project files.

Just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t worry :)”

I stared at the smiling emoji, then almost laughed.

So this was their idea of rationality—

he delivered her files,

she delivered me peace of mind.

How thoughtful.

I typed two words back: “Thank you.”

Then I turned off my phone.

Lightning flashed outside the window.

In the mirror, my face looked pale—my eyes sharp enough to shatter.

And in that instant, I knew—I no longer belonged to this house.

I stood and opened the drawer, taking out my passport.

Its cover was worn soft from years of use.

A photo was tucked into the corner.

It was from our wedding day.

He was smiling, gentle, perfect.

I was smiling too—foolishly, blindly.

My fingers brushed across that frozen grin.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “For teaching me how to destroy trust.”

At one in the morning, Una arrived at my apartment.

The moment she stepped inside, her eyes turned red.

“Wendy, are you sure about this?

This isn’t just leaving—it’s disappearing.”

I nodded.

“Rory will never agree to a divorce.

As long as I’m alive, he’ll keep me locked here—rationally.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I’ve already arranged everything.

The pilot’s in place. The mock crash goes public tomorrow night.

The media’s been notified.

Once you’re on that plane—you’ll be dead to the world.”

I looked out at the night, my voice steady.

“He took away my right to be a mother.

I’ll let him taste what it’s like to lose a wife.”

Una choked out, “Aren’t you scared?”

“I am.” I smiled faintly. “But I’m more afraid of living forever inside his cage of reason.”

The wind swept in, scattering papers across the desk.

The letter I’d written fell to the floor.

Una bent to pick it up—and froze when she read the first line.

“Rory, you signed my death once.

This time, I’ll sign it myself.”

Her voice trembled. “You’re ruthless.”

I smiled, quiet and cold. “He taught me.”

The night deepened.

I sat at the edge of the bed, staring at my wedding ring.

Moonlight filtered through the curtains, making the metal gleam too bright to look at.

Slowly, I took it off and slipped it into the envelope.

My fingers lingered on the cold gold as I murmured,

“Wendy, this is where it ends.”

Outside, the night thickened like ink.

City lights fractured against the rain.

At one a.m., a storm warning echoed across the sky.

Wendy—dressed in a dark gray coat—stood before the window.

Lightning flashed, her reflection flickering back at her:

a face both familiar and foreign,

eyes glacial, unrecognizable.

On the table lay the finished letter.

The ring rested on it—small, silent, and blinding.

I lifted the envelope flap one last time,

and added a final line at the bottom:

“If you ask me whether I regret it I regret not dying sooner.”

Half an hour later, I slid into Una’s car.

The headlights cut through the fog and rain, stretching long shadows over the road.

Her hands trembled on the wheel.

Her voice was hoarse. “Wendy… is this really worth it?”

I fastened my seatbelt, my tone even and calm.

“For three years, I’ve lived in his world.

Now—it’s time to live in mine.”