There’s a horrible buzzing noise, flourescent light symphony. She hears it now for the first time, and wonders how she never noticed it in three years. The silence of the past two certainly left room for it.
Reminders litter the room, the last pieces of the corpse of them. No ligature marks, no defensive wounds, and the scientists would say that there’s no obvious cause of death, but there lies the body, no question. And no one is to blame, really; but she wants to point and scream and pierce the soul of the world with accusations and cries of guilt.
Judge, jury, and now executioner.
She lifts the last box of her things, things that existed outside of them, before the vows, before even the night at the dirty hole-in-the-wall dive that they both frequented (his in the settlement now and new lushes in her future). She walks out into the hall, silencing the white light cacophony before she closes the door, and all that she leaves behind is the light scent of vanilla and incense and a lifetime of dreams.