We stand in the kitchen. The room feels suffocating, like it's being slowly filled with stagnant pond water. His words have wrapped around me like a boa constrictor, pulling my throat tight. I drop into the worn kitchen chair and rest my head in my hands. I notice the smell of tomato soup still hasn't left the room.
"Look at me" he says, his voice breaking lightly, "Please."
I look up, I'm blinded by the sudden burst of bright sunlight from the large window above the worktop. I see him only in silhouette for a few seconds before he shifts into focus. He looks old. The usually endearing faint lines around his eyes seem deeper. I spot a small brushstroke of grey on the side of his head.
"Why?" I breathe, looking him up and down, "Just...why?"
He closes his eyes and his nostrils flare as he breathes. His hands feel for the edge of the worksurface behind him and he leans back. I slowly stand and walk to the other side of the room, adopting the same position as him I wait for an answer. I notice how faded the blue on the cupboard doors is, how stained the cooker has gotten over the years.
"I did it because...I don't...don't think I'm in love with you anymore"
My fingers tighten upon the worktop. A small tear carries itself down my face and hangs on my chin. He takes a step towards me and I put my hand up, resting my palm on the chest of his grey t-shirt. I shake my head and my black curls bounce about my face. Biting my bottom lip I turn and look out of the window. Free of blinds or curtains I can see our two little boys running about the garden. I breathe slowly, in through my nose and out through my mouth. My hands rest next to two dirty mugs and a pile of used teabags, my chin falls onto my chest.
I hear the door close behind me.
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