No Choice.

She thought she could hold it together. The quiet mornings, the familiar weight of him beside her on the couch, the way the walls held their shared silence like a promise. But promises hollow out. It started small—a collar turned wrong, a story that didn't add up. Little betrayals tucked into the folds of everyday life, invisible until she trained herself to see them. And once she saw, she couldn't unsee. She burned the evidence one night in the backyard, watched the paper curl and blacken, and felt something in her chest go quiet. Not peace. Something stranger.

In the bathroom mirror, she became someone else. Slow and deliberate. The lipstick, the steady hands, the eyes that no longer looked away. She was dressing for a role she'd never rehearsed but somehow always knew was coming. By the time the glass was empty and the room went still, she had already left. The woman who walked in here was gone. There's only so much a person can take before they stop asking for a way out—and start making one.