Silence fills the halls, like even the walls themselves are keeping secrets...it seemed like everyone was lately.

Your bare feet pressed against the cold hardwood floors as you passed the framed photos that littered the walls. Photos of a smiling family that just doesn't exist—not anymore. You can't look for too long; it makes your throat close up and your stomach churn when you do.

That's how you always feel lately, sick.

His study door is cracked open, a sliver of warm light spilling into the otherwise dimly lit corridoor.

He's in there.

He's always in there.

The closer your feet take you, the more you feel the words get stuck in your throat. It stung, like swallowing shards of glass. The words you've been practising for weeks, hell, even months! You closed your eyes, stopping any tears from flowing before they formed. Just before you entered his office, you let the floral scent fill your lungs. It was rich, but sure as hell not subtle. It was the same smell that stuck to your bed, the one you shared with—

"Bruce."

.There's no softness in your voice; all the sweetness dried up the second you found out. But he doesn't even look up, his eyes glued to case files of another fucked up incident. The latest one he's attached his head on. All he does is respond with a detached hum, like you're an afterthought. It's like you're not even there

It's all too little and too much.

Your hands are so tightly curled up in fists that you can feel your nails digging into your palms. It hurts, but it's keeping you grounded.

"I saw her leave, Bruce."

The tapping stops, only for a second. There's a small pause. But that's just it, small. That's all you're getting. It's all you're worth.

A scoff leaves your mouth, really? Was this it? The least he could do was say something, anything. The one thing you didn't want, the one thing you hated more than anything, was his silence. Because that hurt more than anything. Because that silence spoke volumes. He didn't fight it; it meant he wasn't going to.

"Say something."

Nothing, but at least he finally looked up.

But he didn't look at you like you were his wife. No, he was looking at you like you were a case. One that needed to be solved quick. There was no mask in front of you, just someone who was tired. Tired of you? Probably.

And maybe it was that patronising look.

Or maybe it was the deafining silence.

Either way, something in you just snapped. The countless times you imagined this scenario in your head, you thought you'd scream. Thought you'd cry or even start throwing things around. Instead, you just felt tired

Exhausted even.

"Do you even care?"

You find your voice pathetic, the way it shakes. Right now, you need strength, but you simply couldn't find it. Maybe it withered away, or maybe you used it all up.

"It wasn't like that. She just-"

"Don't. I don't care if nothing fucking happened, Bruce, I.." You could feel it; it was like something molten hot was stuck in the middle of your throat.

"I can't deal with this right now." He says with a sigh, rolling his head like the fact that his marriage falling apart in front of him didn't matter.

You look at him, for the first time in a while, you really look at him.

No more excuses, no more rose-tinted glasses.

This man, the one who promised to stay with you through every battle. The same one that promised to never hurt you in any way. He was the same one who was throwing everything you built together because he just can't see his mistakes. He doesn't love you, not anymore.

And he hasn't for a while

"God knows I've forgiven you for things worse than you seeing her but...do you really have to keep it from me?"

"Well this is how you react when you know."

A scoff escapes your lips, "You really are something, you know that, right?"

There's a pause in the room, as if time itself went still. Bruce sits up, as if he's only just realised that this wasn't just another petty argument.

"I know, okay? Every month since Christmas, she's been coming over. I know." You repeat it, like he didn't catch it the first time.

There's a crack in your voice. His eyes go wide, only slightly. But you catch it. You catch the way his eyes go from indifference to terrified, it's brief. But it's there, it's there too late.

He whispers your name, guilt slowly spreading across his face. Slow, too slow. He swallows thickly, looking down at his case files—almost like he was ashamed to look at your teary eyes.

He let her in.

Your eyes sting as you stare at him, your heart twisting into a painful knot. This wasn't fair, none of this was. He pushed you away; he ignored all your pleas. And when he did all that, when he hid behind a wall, a mask, when he pushed you so far out he made room for her.

He let her in.

"I can't do this anymore."

"Don't say that," you could practically taste the panic, his chair landing harshly on the ground as he stood up. "You don't mean that."

He said it with such confidence, like it was the truth. Or maybe it was the truth in his head. It was almost funny.

"Yes..." your voice broke, echoing the pain of your heart. "Yes, I do."

It took you a second to believe those words yourself, but it was the truth. A truth that settled deep within your bones, irreversible. Before you could leave, and leave you will, you could feel his calloused fingers wrap around your wrist. Firm, but trembling only slightly. His body betraying what his face or words refuse to show, fear. He tugged you back, desperate to be proven right.

"Please," he rasped, his voice rough and dry.

The sound of his voice echoed in your mind, but you had already made your decision. No one could change your mind now, not Dick, not Tim, and certainly not Bruce.

"I already lost Jason." You closed your eyes, flinching at the mention of your little birdie's name. "Not you too, I can't lose you."

For a second, you wanted to crumble, you almost did.

Almost.

But you've been crumbling for months; if you were going to break, it wasn't going to be now.

"You already have." The words just fell out of your mouth, softer than a whisper, yet they hit him harder than any punch or insult he's ever taken. His grip faltered just like your trust in him. And for the first time, he looked...lost.

He wasn't angry—how could he be? This was his fault.

His voice cracked when uttering your name, no. He didn't get to break. He didn't get to be upset when he caused this. He pushed you away.

This was his fault.

"Let me fix this." He was tripping over his words, frantic in a way that was alien to someone like this. "I'll do anything. Please, I love you."

It just didn't feel right anymore. The words that one soothed your heart only now caused your stomach to twist with anxiety. Maybe it's because it fills you with uncertainty, or maybe it's you can't tell if he means it now.

"Well, I don't." Those words gave your tongue a bitter taste of dishonesty. "Bruce. I'm done. I'm done, okay?" Your words leave you breathless, your chest rising and falling with frustration as you look at him with teary eyes.

They threatened to spill as his face morphed into an expression you've never seen on him, something too close to begging.

The ring on your finger is almost impossible to take off, like it doesn't even want you to leave. But when it does come off, when it lands on the floor, when the diamond chips off, and the sound echoes throughout the room, you know it was over.

The sound rings in his ears.

It infests yours.

His lips parted, almost in shock. He didn't argue; he didn't even pull you back. He just let the silence fill the room again.

Maybe that was the worst part.

So you leave, you leave him in the cruel silence that he's always chosen. But for the first time, it's suffocating him. He can't breathe, but you're not going to soothe him.

Not anymore.

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