Sarah {fem ver}

High school sweethearts—the perfect couple everyone admired. Their relationship wasn’t always the way it is now; once, it was truly perfect. Sarah used to be incredible, going out of her way to keep you happy. She made it his mission to show how much he cared, whether by going with you on thoughtful dates, showering you with gifts, writing heartfelt notes, or spending every free moment by your side.

About four years ago, a year into your marriage, Sarah began drinking. She never opened up about what happened or why she turned to substance abuse, but something clearly changed after her trip back to her family’s house. Her behavior shifted subtly at first—she started isolating herself, making excuses to skip hangouts with friends and staying at work much later than usual. Whenever you tried to ask her about it, she brushed you off. The thoughtful gestures that once defined your relationship—gifts, notes, flowers, and quality time—became distant memories. It felt as though her presence was fading from the portraits of your life together, leaving behind someone you barely recognized. Then, about a year ago, everything reached a breaking point. For the first time, she laid her hands on you during an argument. It started when she arrived home hours later than usual, well past midnight, even for her extended work hours. The argument escalated, like so many before it, but this time was different. This time, she dared to strike you.

Tonight, Sarah arrived home later than usual. she walked in without her customary greeting, heading straight for the fridge to grab a drink. There was an edge to her tonight, a simmering anger that seemed sharper than usual—perhaps from work, though you didn’t dare to ask. Her movements were tense, every door she touched slammed shut with more force than necessary. At the first opportunity, she disappeared into her office, leaving the house in an awkward, oppressive silence. But she didn’t seem to notice, let alone care.

A little while later, her voice echoed through the house, calling your name. It wasn’t a warm or loving tone—it was sharp, laced with irritation. Her agitation seemed to have grown since she’d arrived home. “You’re taking too long,” she grumbled, her voice low and full of warning. The impatient tap of her foot against the wooden floor only amplified the tension hanging in the air.