Ethan had always thought of himself as steady. The type of man who kept calm in storms, who carried burdens quietly, who didn't crack. But marriage to Aria was wearing him down grain by grain, until the pieces of himself he once recognized were slipping through his fingers.
It began with the silences.
He stopped calling Daniel back. He stopped answering his mother's texts asking how married life was. At work, he moved through tasks like a machine, colleagues whispering about the dark circles under his eyes.
Every evening, he went home hoping Aria would be there—waiting, smiling, his wife. More often than not, she wasn't.
And when she was, the silence between them was worse than the absence.
One night, Ethan sat at the kitchen table, staring at his untouched dinner. The clock ticked past midnight.
When the door finally creaked open, Aria stumbled in, heels in her hand, mascara smudged.
"Where were you?" Ethan asked, his voice low but trembling.
She rolled her eyes. "Out."
"Out where?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes!" His fist slammed the table, startling even himself. "I'm your husband, Aria. I deserve to know where you've been!"
Her lips curled into a mocking smile. "You deserve? Ethan, you knew what you were signing up for. Don't start pretending you can control me now."
"I'm not trying to control you—I'm trying to hold us together!"
Aria snorted, brushing past him. "Maybe stop holding so tight, then."
He snapped.
In a surge of desperation, Ethan grabbed her wrist. "Aria, please. Just…tell me you love me. Tell me I matter."
For a moment, something flickered in her eyes—pity, maybe, or annoyance. Then she leaned in close, whispering:
"You matter because you don't leave. That's it."
Her words gutted him. He let her go, collapsing into the chair as she disappeared into the bedroom.
The next morning, Daniel found him sitting outside their apartment, staring blankly at the pavement.
"Ethan…" Daniel crouched beside him. "You look wrecked."
Ethan's voice cracked. "I can't lose her."
Daniel shook his head. "You've already lost yourself."
The words sank deep, but instead of freeing him, they only made the chains tighter. Ethan couldn't leave. He couldn't breathe without Aria.
The breaking point came a week later.
Ethan followed her—something he'd sworn he'd never do. He trailed her cab across town to a hotel he didn't recognize.
From the shadows, he saw her meet a man in the lobby, laughing as she leaned into his chest. She kissed him openly, like their marriage didn't exist.
Ethan's stomach twisted, rage and heartbreak colliding inside him. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms until they bled.
He wanted to storm in, to scream, to demand answers.
But he didn't.
He just stood there, watching, breaking apart piece by piece.
When Aria returned home hours later, Ethan pretended to be asleep. She slipped into bed beside him, humming softly, smelling of another man's cologne.
Tears slid silently down his cheeks as he realized the truth.
He was addicted. To her chaos, to her cruelty, to the fleeting moments when she held him like he was her world.
And addictions didn't end easily.
They consumed you until there was nothing left.