The house was silent, except for the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. Midnight had passed, yet the faint glow from the office room remained, spilling out into the darkened hallway. It had been this way for months—late nights, whispered phone calls, vague excuses that led nowhere. The distance between them had grown like an unseen chasm, and no matter how hard she tried to reach across it, he never met her halfway.

She had asked, pleaded even, for an honest conversation. But every time, he had dismissed her with a tired sigh, murmuring about work, deadlines, and stress. Always busy. Always distracted. Always looking at his phone with an expression she couldn't quite place. And she? She had become an afterthought in her own marriage.

Tonight, staring at the crisp stack of divorce papers in her hands, she felt the weight of all those months pressing down on her. Even now, his office light still burned, the final proof that whatever held his attention, it wasn't her.

Her grip on the papers tightened as she walked down the hall. She didn't hesitate. She had spent too long waiting, too long hoping for something that would never come.

With a sharp push, she flung the door open. The sound startled him, but he barely had time to react before she strode forward and dropped the papers onto his desk with a resolute thud.

"I want a divorce," she said, her voice firm, unwavering. "Sign it."

At last, he looked up. There was something in his eyes—shock, confusion, maybe even regret. But it was too late.