Ending

J is asleep with his back to me. I watch it rise and fall before succumbing to post-argument tiredness, and roll over onto my side.

Minutes pass which feel like hours.

I can’t sleep.

I drag myself out of bed and into the living room, where night time is at its peak. Looking through the window, I see nothing but a black silk curtain of sky and no stars.

I turn around and see J sitting in the couch. I look back to the bedroom. The door is ajar. J is still in bed, sleeping.

I watch this J, holding my breath.

His head is in his hands. He’s crying silently, shoulders jumping, the way men do, which makes it all the more devastating. The back of my throat catches on itself.

I tiptoe past him, back to the J in bed. He’s hugging himself. Normally, I would put an arm around him.

I wake up to find sunlight kissing my face. J isn’t beside me.

In the kitchen, he’s made coffee. My cup sits on the table.

‘We don’t love each other anymore,’ he says. A perfection summation of last night’s fight. I nod my agreement as my chest implodes.

I take a shower, pack up the things I can fit into my handbag, stand at the front door ready to leave.

We hug. Tightly. I feel like staying. It's right that I'm leaving.

Despite the sunshine, it starts to rain. It falls into, and rolls out of my eyes.