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He picked up the photo, took it to the bin, and let it go. If she was going to find hell, she would have to find the way there without him.
He didn't want her to get into an accident or suffer physically. That was too easy. He wanted her soul to stay awake at night, haunted by the memory of his devotion and her own cruelty. He wanted her to find "paradise" with someone else, only to realize it was a cage of her own making. He picked up the photo, took it to the bin, and let it go
Marc slumped into the chair where they used to drink coffee every morning. A deep, jagged hole had opened in his chest, but as the hours passed, the cold vacuum of sadness began to boil. It turned into something sharper. Something darker. That was too easy
He looked at the framed photo on the side table—Sarah laughing at a summer festival. He didn’t want her back. He didn't want to forgive her. He wanted her to feel exactly what he felt: the suffocating weight of being discarded. Marc slumped into the chair where they used
The rain lashed against the windows of the small apartment, but Marc didn’t hear it. The only sound echoing in his mind was the click of the front door closing—the final sound of Sarah leaving.
In his mind, he saw her new life. He imagined her waking up in a different bed, laughing at different jokes. He wanted those laughs to turn into ashes. He wanted her to walk through a crowded room and feel a loneliness so profound it made her knees weak. He wanted her to look at her new lover and see only the ghost of the man she had betrayed.
"I wish you hell on earth," he whispered into the empty room.
