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 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.

For three years, she had been his world. He had given her everything: his trust, his time, and a version of himself he didn't show anyone else. Then, in a single, cold afternoon, she had traded it all for someone new. No apologies, no tears—just a suitcase and a "life goes on."

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.

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.

As the sun began to crawl over the horizon, Marc finally stood up. The fury hadn't left him, but it had settled into a cold, hard stone in his gut. He realized that by wishing her "hell on earth," he was still tied to her. He was standing at the gates of that very hell, holding the key.

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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 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. He picked up the photo, took it to the bin, and let it go

For three years, she had been his world. He had given her everything: his trust, his time, and a version of himself he didn't show anyone else. Then, in a single, cold afternoon, she had traded it all for someone new. No apologies, no tears—just a suitcase and a "life goes on." He didn’t want her back

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. For three years, she had been his world

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.

As the sun began to crawl over the horizon, Marc finally stood up. The fury hadn't left him, but it had settled into a cold, hard stone in his gut. He realized that by wishing her "hell on earth," he was still tied to her. He was standing at the gates of that very hell, holding the key.