All names, places etc…belong to Cassandra Clare

I didn't know when it stopped being enough. I knew about it but he never stopped. He never stopped doing it…or trying to make up for it. The dissatisfaction and anger eats you up whole until you're sailing in a black abyss of nothing, numbness, shock as to what everything has accumulated to. How could you let this happen?

With every "late night emergency meeting at work" he bought me a string of pearls even though I hated pearls, or clear, crystal, cut diamonds or sapphires or new clothes. He even bought me a trip to Paris probably so he can have more time with her.

At first, you deny it. Try to stick with the past, of course he would never betray you, he loves you right? But then doubt started to sprout in your mind and you find yourself glancing at the clock, waiting for him to come home.

You find your doubt growing, feeding on the warnings that your friends and your family give you. When he stumbles in the next morning, your doubt turns into anger.

Anger that he desperately tries to stem from growing, anger that he thinks he can placate with jewelry or exotic vacation spots. He surrounds you with the lavish lifestyle that you feel like you're drowning in, suffocating in.

When anger finishes blowing its steam, it turns into sadness. A deep, deep mourning for something that you lost, mourning for something that was probably never there. You find yourself staring at your hands, at the small golden band that stretches around your finger so many promises, so many adventures, so many dreams…shattered.

You pack up your easels, your paints, and your white paper to grow yellow and dusty in the attic, you pack away yourself, your old self, and the person you once were and thought you would always be. You were wrong, you were wrong about yourself and about him. You try not to cry but you can't help it. You sink to the floor, covering your face feeling trapped, suffocated and most of all…lost.

When you finally meet her at the annual Christmas dinner and she smiles at you with triumph in every twitch of her lips, with her blonde hair pulled up and twisted into exotic styles, with her midnight black dress hugging every curve, with every eye in the room on her especially his….that's when the numbness started to seep in.

You grow cold and distant, you can feel it spreading inside you but you don't care anymore. You don't care about him or her or yourself. You just don't care. He was cheating on me…I knew that but I didn't care. He is begging me on his knees right now.

"I'm sorry!" I don't care.

"I won't do it again!" I don't care.

"She meant nothing to me!" I don't care.

You get up the next morning, robotically like you have been doing for the past 7 years. Your feet touch the cool mahogany floor and you feel something. You feel a little stir in the middle of the cold wasteland of numbness. It grows as you look at your sleeping husband, his beautiful golden face illuminated by the early sunlight.

You don't wake him up. He wouldn't want it. You don't leave a note. He doesn't deserve it. You slip off your ring and then, the first feeling in years hits you- shock. You don't feel anything. No pain, no love, nothing. You place it on the table, take your bags and walk out.

The streets are empty as you head back to your own home. The landlord won't mind, you'll speak to him later. The first things you unpack are your easels and your paints. You sit in the empty room, dust mites dancing in the golden light it was like seeing the air. With each stroke, each twirl of the hand the ice falls away leaving only you. The light breeze blows n the open windows, and you close your eyes and lean in embracing it, craving its lingering coolness. For the first time in years you feel at peace…you feel free.