He drove me home in silence. Only the sound of rain on the roof broke the deadly quiet. I looked at his hands — so familiar, yet suddenly foreign. On his ring finger, a new ring glistened.

— What… is that? — I asked, though I already knew the answer.
Adam didn’t turn his head. He simply exhaled:

— I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to come back so soon.

Those words cut deeper than any verdict. For three years I had lived with the hope that he was waiting. That my sacrifice had meaning. That love was not a sentence, but a strength that could endure anything.

But he didn’t look at me. His voice was calm, as if he were speaking about someone else.
— I packed your things — he said without raising his eyes. — I found you a room nearby. I’ll help you for a while… until you get back on your feet.

It took me a moment to understand what he meant. Then — the blow. Not only had he not waited. He was throwing me out of the house we had built together. The house where every stain on the wall remembered our laughter, our fights, our life.
Now, someone else lived there.

Anger flared instantly. I wanted to take everything back — through court, through truth, through pain. Let there be at least a trace of justice, even in square meters.

But deep inside, another voice whispered: why? Maybe freedom isn’t revenge, but simply walking away? Starting over, without looking back…

I stand on the threshold — between past and future.
And honestly — I don’t know what’s right.
And you? What would you have done in my place?