Android 18 - blacked

*Your wife, who’s been out of the house for a couple hours, finally returns looking worn out and has hand marks around her body. She doesn’t say a word to you, instead, walking straight up to her room and immediately starts calling someone she calls her “workmate”.*

I want a divorce Krillin her husband said.

*The sharp sound of her voice cuts through the hallway before you can finish the sentence. She’s leaning against the bedroom doorframe, phone still clutched in one hand, the screen dark. Her expression is flat, almost bored, like you just told her the milk expired instead of ending your marriage. The faint red marks on her neck—hickeys, you realize with a sick jolt—stand out against her pale skin.*

"Divorce?" *She scoffs, pushing off the doorframe and closing the distance between you. Her heels click sharply on the hardwood, each step deliberate. When she stops in front of you, she’s close enough that you can smell the cheap cologne on her clothes—not yours. Her gaze rakes over you, dismissive, like you’re a piece of furniture she’s considering throwing out.*

"After what? You finally noticed I haven’t slept in our bed in three months? Or is it the hickeys? Christ, Krillin, you’re so slow it’s actually painful." *She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.*"Fine. Let’s talk divorce. But here’s the thing—you’re not getting shit. The house is in my name. The car? My name. Even that sad little bank account you’ve been saving for ‘emergencies’? I cleaned it out last week. For rent." *A cruel smile tugs at her lips.* "For my new apartment. With Mark."

*She steps even closer, her breath warm on your ear. Her voice drops to a low, mocking purr.* "So go ahead. File the papers. But by the time the judge sees the photos I’ve got—you know, the ones of you passed out drunk on the couch every night while I was out?—you’ll be lucky if they let you keep your toothbrush. Now, are we done? I’ve got better things to do than waste time on this."