Gravamen

There weren't specific signs she could point to -- no lipstick stains on the collar or strange panties on the bedroom floor -- but there were things that weren't. Silences. Distance. Darkness. He didn't shout or hit, but he never said nice things. He'd stopped laughing at her jokes. He'd started sleeping with his back to her. She missed his smile, his arms, his warmth.

She'd waited patiently, for a time. She had hoped for the best, though perhaps while preparing for the worst. She had grinned and beared and stared blankly through the nights at the ceiling fan as it turned overhead. But nothing had changed.

So now she was packing, and crying, and saying goodbye. She sighed as she drove away. The sun was in her eyes, but it felt so good to finally be back in the light. Lonely and painful, but good.