The living room that day was still and heavy with silence. The curtains were drawn, muting the sunlight, and the air seemed to hold its breath. Laura sat stiffly on the edge of the cream-colored sofa, her fingertips circling the rim of a teacup she hadn’t touched.
Across from her, Curtis stood tall and cold, his voice clipped, as though he wanted the conversation over as quickly as possible.
The words landed like stones.
Her suitcase waited by the door, packed neatly, as if twelve years of marriage had been nothing more than a weekend trip now coming to an end.
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