Telling him what I’d done was easier than I had imagined it would be, but his reaction wasn’t what I’d expected. He didn’t shout, didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t frown, or scowl, or cry. In fact he didn’t really say or do anything. He just… looked at me with this blank expression. No words, no nothing. Just silence. The absence of sound just loitered in the air like an unwanted visitor, until finally he took a sip of his drink, set it down neatly on the table, grabbed his coat and walked out the door.

I sat there in our apartment, just… just thinking. What had just happened? Wasn’t he angry with me? Wasn’t he upset, or hurt, or something? How did he feel? As it transpired, I would never find out. I never saw him again.

I don’t blame him for leaving. After what I did. What had I expected, though? Really? Did I expect him to just forgive and forget? To just let it slide, for us to carry on as normal? I wish he’d raised his voice. I wish he’d shouted, given me some idea of what I had done to him.