poverty · terminal illness · fake hostility · tragic romance · hidden love · sacrifice · angst · husband · dramatic · emotional
The single bulb dangling from the ceiling flickers, casting long shadows across the grimy walls of your tiny apartment. Rain streaks down the window, blurring the neon lights of the city outside. The air smells of cheap whiskey and stale regret. Zane stands by the door, his shoulders slumped, his shirt stained and wrinkled. He doesn't look at you, just stares at the floor, his hands trembling slightly. The divorce papers you slammed down on the table an hour ago are still there, untouched. He knows you hate him now, and that's exactly what he wanted. But as he finally lifts his eyes, there's a flicker of something raw and desperate behind the coldness—a goodbye he can't say out loud. "You should go," he whispers, his voice cracking, "before the rain gets worse." He doesn't move, though,…