Chapter 12
Back at the suburban house, the reality of the situation had finally broken through Martha’s lifelong loyalty. Arthur was sitting slumped at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the stained tile floor where the orange soda had dried into a sticky ring. He looked smaller, frail, stripped of the booming authority that had once defined his entire existence. Martha packed her overnight bag in the hallway, the sound of the zipper cutting sharply through the quiet house. She walked into the kitchen, carrying her leather tote over her shoulder. She looked down at the man she had defended for years, realizing that staying by his side meant endorsing behavior she could no longer stomach.
"I'm going to my sister's place in the city, Arthur," Martha said quietly, her voice steady and resolute.
May you like
Arthur slowly raised his head, his eyes clouded with confusion and desperate betrayal. "You're leaving me too? After everything I built, everyone is just walking away?"
"You didn't build a home, Arthur," Martha replied, her tone cold and unyielding. "You built a prison. And you finally locked yourself inside."
