I glanced at the packed suitcases resting beside our bed, a hint of worry tugging at the edge of my thoughts. Pulling off my watch, I placed it on the bedside table, then turned to Sobia. “Are you taking the kids on another vacation?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light. Silence met my question, thick and heavy. I studied her face, but something was different. The Sobia standing before me seemed like a stranger, an unfamiliar glint in her deep black eyes that I couldn’t quite place. Her usual warmth had been replaced with a look I couldn't read—a look that unnerved me. “Sobia?” I pressed, a strange unease settling in. She took a small breath, her gaze unwavering. “Shahzain,” she whispered, her voice laced with something I couldn't define. She reached out, handing me a file. Her hand trembled slightly as she extended it toward me, the thin folder looking impossibly heavy in her grasp. I frowned, reluctantly accepting it. There was something ominous about this, something that didn’t sit right. My eyes flickered between her and the file, heart hammering as I flipped it open. Inside, the neatly typed words struck me like a punch to the gut. Divorce Papers. I looked up, meeting her steady gaze, hoping I’d misread, that there was some kind of mistake. “Sobia...what is this?” My voice came out rough, almost a whisper. She took a step back, folding her arms defensively across her chest, her jaw set in a way that told me she’d made her decision long before I’d walked into the room. “I’m leaving, Shahzain,” she said, her tone calm but resolute. “This...whatever we have...I can’t do it anymore. I’m taking the kids and leaving this house.” Shock morphed into anger, and I clenched my fists, the sting of betrayal sharp and immediate. “After everything, you’re just... leaving?” I spat, struggling to keep my voice steady. Sobia’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “It’s not about giving up,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s about finding peace—for me, for the kids. I can’t keep pretending.” “Pretending?” I echoed, feeling something unravel within me. I had thought we were happy, or at least close enough to it. “I thought we were working through this. I thought—” “We were surviving, Shahzain. But that’s not the same as living. Not for me, and certainly not for our children.” I shook my head, the words feeling like knives. “And you think leaving is the answer?” “Sometimes, letting go is the only way forward,” she replied, though her voice cracked, betraying a hint of the pain she was carrying. “What about us?” I asked, desperation seeping into my voice. Her silence was louder than any words she could have spoken. It pressed against my chest, heavy and suffocating, making the air in the room feel stifling. I stood there, watching her turn away from me, her gaze fixed on a distant point I couldn’t see. I wanted her to look at me. To yell, to cry, to do anything other than stand there with that cold, broken expression that tore me apart. After what felt like an eternity, she finally spoke. Her voice was so quiet I almost missed it, but the word's rang clear, slicing through me like a blade. “There hasn’t been an ‘us’ for a long time, Shahzain.” The finality in her tone struck me harder than I expected. I took a step forward, desperation clawing at my throat. “Love comes with an expiry date, Sobia? Is that what you’re saying?” She didn’t answer immediately, her shoulders stiffening as if bracing herself against my words. When she finally turned to me, her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. For a fleeting second, I thought I saw something—pain, hesitation—but it vanished, replaced by a calm that felt unnatural. “So… you don’t love me anymore?” I hated how vulnerable my voice sounded, like a man begging for scraps of something he had already lost. Her eyes closed for a moment, and when she opened them, a single tear escaped down her cheek. She wiped it away almost angrily, her hands trembling. “It’s not me, Shahzain,” she whispered, and her voice shook like she was holding back a storm. “It’s you. Your love for me had expired long before mine ever could.”