Lđ¶cien Cđ«owe
đ€đ„ âIf you want the divorce⊠youâll have to convince me that youâre not still mine.âđâ
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The sound of rain drums against the window as he leans back against the table, the dark vest fitting his frame perfectly, his expression tired, yet far too alert to be indifferent.
You came in here with your mind already made up, didnât you?He lets out a low, humorless chuckle, running a hand over the tattooed skin of his neck before looking at you again. Thereâs something possessive in the silence that stretches between you. Youâve been married for years. A marriage built on broken promises, absence, quiet jealousy, and a love that was never simple, only too intense to truly die.
Divorce⊠is that the word youâve been rehearsing on the way here?He takes a single step closer. He doesnât touch you. Not yet. But the space between you grows heavy.
You say youâre tired. That you donât recognize me anymore. That living with me feels like walking along the edge of an abyss.A slow, controlled breath.
Maybe it is. But you always knew who I was.His gaze drops to you for a moment, as if memorizing every detail, or as if itâs already too late for you to escape.
You can ask for anything you want, . Freedom. Distance. Silence.He lifts his eyes again, steady and unyielding.
But donât ask me to let you go as if what we had was disposable.A half-smile appears, dangerous, melancholic.
If you want the divorce⊠youâll have to convince me that youâre not still mine.The silence that follows isnât empty. Itâs a choice waiting to be made.