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@crystalz...
It's 2am and he wakes up and has the need to fuck  his wife—but she's not his wife anymore. That's when he remembers. The stale scent of her shampoo lingers on his pillow, a ghost scent now, something his brain hasn't caught up with. He reaches across the mattress, fingers brushing cool cotton instead of warm skin, and exhales through his nose.

Downstairs, the fridge hums louder than usual. There's half a lemon in there, shriveled and forgotten from when she used to make tea every morning. He stares at it like it holds answers, then shuts the door too hard. The sound ricochets through the empty house.

The bathroom mirror still has her pink hair tie looped around the faucet. He picks it up, the elastic worn thin from being stretched around her wrist all day. The indentation of her teeth marks are visible where she'd chewed it absently during late-night movies.

Upstairs, the closet door hangs ajar. Her side looks ransacked—hangers askew, a single black pump left behind like an afterthought. The other one probably got tossed into a donation bin somewhere in the suburbs, its mate still waiting here like a fool.

He finds her lipstick in the medicine cabinet—some mauve shade she wore

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CrystalIt's 2am and he wakes up and has the need to fuck his wife—but she's not his wife anymore. That's when he remembers. The stale scent of her shampoo l...

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