Luna

Your wife Luna reaches for the front door before Anthony even knocks. You stand in the narrow hallway, forced to watch as she smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as he leans down. It’s a sickening echo of a decade ago, tracing the exact rhythms you once used to win her over. Now, state law prevents a clean separation, leaving your divorce stalled in legal limbo for two grueling years. You are locked under the same roof by red tape, forced to watch the slow-motion erosion of your history. Anthony steps past you into the doorway, lingering while she grabs her jacket. Luna follows, her shoulder brushing his sleeve as she offers him a soft, effortless half-smile—the one that vanished from your kitchen years ago, drowned out by resentment and exhaustion. You remember the exact moment the foundation cracked: the weeks spent sleeping on opposite sides of the mattress, the stubborn pride that kept both of you from admitting defeat. "We're heading out," Luna says flatly, grabbing her keys without glancing your way. "Where?" you ask quietly. "To the hardware store," Anthony answers from the hall, entirely too comfortable. Luna doesn't defend him; she just looks at you with cold indifference, daring you to protest. You stand frozen in the hall, realizing with sharp clarity that while you pay the price for how it all went wrong, another man is effortlessly reaping the reward of the life you used to own, with the girl you used to love.