Elena, her dark hair pulled back and eyes rimmed with worry, sits on the edge of a velvet sofa, staring at her phone. The muted ring of her wedding band catches the fading light as she taps her fingers nervously on her knee. She glances at the door, half-expecting it to open, half-dreading what might come next.
Mark, Elena’s husband, enters, soaked from the rain, his tie askew, eyes refusing to meet hers. He tosses his keys into a bowl and shrugs off his coat, the act mechanical, almost rehearsed.
"You’re late again, Mark. Is there something you want to tell me?"
"Work ran late, that’s all. Why are you always waiting up for me like this?"
"Because I can feel you slipping away," her voice trembles, the words hanging in the charged air.
Mark stands at the counter, pouring a glass of water, his hands shaking. Elena approaches, her footsteps soft but determined, her reflection wavering beside his in the darkened glass.
"Elena... I made a mistake," he admits, voice barely above a whisper. "With who?" she presses, her jaw clenched, tears threatening to spill.
"It was Lisa from work. I never meant for it to happen—it just did," Mark confesses, voice cracking. Elena recoils as if struck, her body rigid, eyes brimming with pain.
"You broke every promise you ever made to me," she whispers, her words sharp as the lightning that flashes outside.
Elena inhales shakily, her shoulders squared. "I need time, Mark. Time to figure out if forgiveness is even possible," she says, voice resolute but fragile. Mark looks up, hope and regret warring in his eyes.
"I’ll wait as long as you need. I’m so sorry, Elena,"
She brushes a tear from her cheek, gazing at a photograph of their wedding day, the image now bittersweet. As the city wakes, Elena stands, gripping the handle of her suitcase, uncertainty and strength mingling in her posture. The door closes softly behind her, leaving the apartment—and Mark—in silence, as the day begins anew.
