I stood alone on the relatively empty street.

I hadn't slept all night—my head was foggier than I'd expected.

Feeling close to my limit, I called a rideshare and waited under a tree.

While waiting, I got a message from Julian.

"Let's get divorced."

Definitive.

Honestly, Julian had said things like this to me before.

"Let's break up." "Divorce." "Maybe we shouldn't be together, Claire."

To outsiders, these words would've been devastating. But I'd heard them so many times they'd lost their edge—like a blade dulled from overuse.

Every time, he'd say it in the heat of the moment. And every time, I'd be the one to cave first. Send the first text. Make the first excuse for him.

But this time felt different.

This time, it came through a screen. Cold and deliberate.

No slamming door. No raised voice. Just seven words on a bright display.

I typed and deleted three replies before settling on nothing at all.

The rideshare arrived. I climbed in, gave my address, and leaned my head against the window.

Halfway home, my phone buzzed again.

Julian: "I'll have the papers drawn up."

Julian: "I'll be fair about it."

I almost laughed. Fair. As if fairness was the problem.

The problem was never money or property or who got the apartment.

The problem was that somewhere along the way, Julian had stopped seeing me. Not just looking—seeing. The way he used to in college, when he'd find me in a crowd of hundreds and his whole face would change.

I closed my eyes.

"Driver, is it okay if I sleep for a bit?"

"Go ahead, ma'am."

I slept the rest of the way home. Dreamless, for once.