She was at a loss on how to cry these days. It was useless; she had cried enough for him, for their alleged love. However, today's confirmation hurt more than she had anticipated. She paced back and forth, her hands shaking from the weight of everything coming crashing down.

The messages and the pictures were all one thing. They were demanding proof of his adultery. However, the text struck her like a knife in the chest that she had just finished reading. It came from the other woman, herself.

"She's so gullible. It's almost laughable."

The phrases twirled like poison in her thoughts. Stupid? Did he perceive her in that way? Was it what he'd come to see in her?

Everything she had experienced previously seemed twisted and betrayed, including the late-night "work meetings," the unanswered calls, the fruity perfume, and the lipstick on his collar. He must have believed she was blind and that her devotion to him was so great that she could not see through his deceptions.

Her nails were cutting into her palms as she balled her fists. Her chest grew swollen with contempt, choking her. She turned to look at the bed where they'd formerly had private times together—moments she now doubted were genuinely intimate. Had his thoughts been focused on her the whole time? Had he made fun of her devotion by laughing behind her back?

No. Today is the last day of this.

She took a deep breath and reached for his phone once more, sweeping her fingertips across the screen to read through other texts. Every new revelation only made her pain worse, but it also strengthened her resolve. She would no longer be the credulous idiot.

With a fresh feeling of purpose, her eyes darkened.

Her actions were precise and robotic, as though every chore could somehow ease the pain in her chest, as she rapidly put on her clothes and pulled her hair back into a messy bun. She took her two suitcases out of the closet and started packing everything that used to make their house seem like home, including clothes, toiletries, and souvenirs. It was completed in fifteen minutes. She stood among the ruins of their former life together, shaking hands as she closed the last suitcase.

Even though Farley's heart was racing, she didn't hesitate. She took out a little sticky note and wrote on it with furious, short strokes:

"I know everything."

— Farley

She tentatively put the note on his phone. "Have a good life, Khairro," she whispered, her voice scarcely audible above a whisper.

Her gaze traveled over the Muji-style home they had occupied in the past. The room's simple elegance, crisp lines, and cozy wood tones had all served as a mirror of their shared lives—a life in which she had genuine faith, a life she believed they were co-creating. She hesitated momentarily, the memories they shared here weighing heavily on her. This house was beautiful, and she would mourn the little happy moments they had shared inside its walls. It was beginning to feel like her home.

Farley shook her head for what seemed like the millionth time, attempting to push the uncertainty and melancholy away. She was in no position to falter now. She headed to the door, slinging her bags over her shoulder as she went. As she backed into the driveway, she felt the sting of the tears she had been trying so hard not to cry. Tears were streaming down her face, and she lost sight of the still, dark street as she walked away.

That was it.

With the crisp night air numbing her skin as she made her way toward the town, she prepared herself for life after him. At that very moment, the last thing she desired—and had ever desired from Khairro Lu—was for him to chase her. She was over seeking falsehoods.

She could take no more of him.