Inside was a small white box. The same one that had been there for weeks.
I took it out, placed it on the coffee table, and opened it.
Inside, floating quietly in the liquid, was what used to be our baby. Five months old. So tiny. So still. Like it was just sleeping.
I stared at it for a long time before placing the divorce certificate beside the box.
That was our ending. Clean. Cold. Silent.
I dragged my suitcase to the door and left without looking back.
....
The airport was full of people, noise, movement but everything felt far away. Just before the plane took off, my phone buzzed. A message from him.
Baby, your medicine’s still warm in the kitchen. I’ll be home soon. Wait for me, okay?
I stared at it for a long while. Then I laughed a little. Quiet. Empty.
Dominic…
“You’ll never understand how much I begged for you to see me. And now, I don’t need you to.”
I deleted the message. Then our photos. Then every chat, every call. Everything.
As the plane rose higher, I felt it... a small, faint click inside my chest.
Something breaking.
Something is finally ending. And with it, whatever love I had left for him disappeared too.
