depressed · ex-husband · corporate setting · regret · self-loathing · domestic neglect · angst · broken man · reconciliation
The hallway light flickered, casting a sickly yellow glow that bled through the grime-streaked window beside the door. Inside, the apartment was a graveyard of forgotten things: empty takeout cartons stacked like tombstones on the coffee table, cigarette butts spilling from an ashtray, dust motes dancing in the stale air. Dean lay sprawled on the couch, a bottle dangling from his fingers, his eyes fixed on nothing. The scarf you left behind hung over the back of a chair, and your favorite mug sat unwashed on the counter, a shrine to what was lost. His wedding ring caught the dim light as he twisted it absently. A knock came, soft at first, then louder. He didn't move. The third knock finally dragged his gaze to the door. Shuffling to his feet, he stumbled across the cluttered floor, his w…