She Wanted A Divorce To Be With Him. I Gave Her One. And I Gave Him Something Too — A Job...

Описание: She Wanted A Divorce To Be With Him. I Gave Her One. And I Gave Him Something Too — A Job...

It’s three in the morning, and I’m crouched under our kitchen sink in nothing but boxers, wrestling with a pipe wrench that’s older than our marriage. The faucet’s been dripping for weeks, each metallic plink echoing through the loft like a ticking clock counting down to something inevitable. I should be focused on stopping the leak, on fixing what I can control—but then I hear it: the soft ping of Annette’s phone from the bedroom.

At first, it’s innocuous. People get messages at all hours. But there’s a rhythm to it, a pattern that tightens the pit in my stomach: three quick pings, silence, then another three. My chest tightens with a slow-burning suspicion I can’t ignore.

I set the wrench down and wipe my hands on a rag, my mind racing. Our apartment is modest, a converted loft in the shell of what used to be the city’s industrial district. Cheap rent, shaky floors that vibrate when freight trains pass, a heating system that groans like it resents waking from hibernation. It’s ours. Or at least, it was.

The pings come again.

Annette has been working late more often recently. Corporate law, she says. Big merger. My six years of married intuition tell me something’s off. When she’s stressed, she reorganizes the spice rack. When she’s excited, she rehearses legal arguments over dinner, dramatic gestures included. Lately, she’s done neither. The apartment feels colder, emptier, though I know she’s physically here.

I pad across the hardwood, the chill biting my bare feet, past the stack of mismatched furniture and IT certification books I never open. The bedroom door is cracked open, and the blue glow of her phone casts ghostly reflections on the ceiling. Steam from the shower curls around the doorway, but it doesn’t mask the metallic heartbeat of the phone notifications.

I shouldn’t look. I know that. But curiosity and dread collide, pulling me toward the screen like gravity I can’t fight. The phone pings again, lighting up her nightstand with a sequence of messages I’m never meant to see.
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