After the truth settled, Kavya stopped trying to hold the marriage together.

The effort simply fell away, as if a muscle she had relied on her whole life had finally given out. She moved through the days on instinct alone. Wake the children. Pack lunches. Answer emails. Smile when required. Everything felt flattened, drained of color.

At night, when the house went quiet, the weight descended.

She replayed her life relentlessly, searching for the precise moment she had disappeared into the marriage. She saw herself saying yes too easily, shaping her desires around others, mistaking usefulness for love.

Anger came late.

When it did, it startled her with its force. It rose without warning while she folded clothes, while she washed dishes, while she stood in traffic. It was not directed only at Aditya. Much of it turned inward.

How had she allowed herself to become this dependent? How had she mistaken devotion for safety?

Aditya watched her withdrawal with unease. The house felt colder, quieter. Kavya no longer asked questions. She no longer monitored his moods. Her absence was more unsettling than her clinging had ever been.

He felt a hollow relief at first. The pressure had eased. He could breathe.

But the relief quickly curdled into guilt. Kavya’s silence forced him to confront the cost of his awakening. He had wanted freedom without destruction. Instead, he had triggered both.

One afternoon, Kavya sat alone in a café after dropping the children at school. She had nowhere to be. The emptiness of the hour frightened her.

For the first time in years, she asked herself a forbidden question.

Who am I, if I am not holding everything together?

The question did not yield an answer. But it marked a beginning.

That evening, when Aditya tried to speak, Kavya stopped him gently.

"I can’t do this right now," she said. "I need space."

The words were calm, resolute. They frightened him more than anger would have.

Kavya retreated inward, not to punish him, but to survive.

The descent had begun.