Chapter 21: Why We Broke

Ren and Yuki didn’t fall apart in a single night.

There was no dramatic betrayal, no shouting, no slammed doors.

Their love didn’t explode.

It eroded—softly, slowly—until one day they realized the ground beneath them had disappeared.

They just never talked about it.

---

Yuki’s Side

In the past timeline, Yuki used to paint in the living room after work.

She’d sit on the floor, brushes spread out, colors staining her fingertips.

She wasn’t amazing yet, but she had passion. She had ideas. She used to glow when she created something, even a messy sketch.

But as time went on, she painted less.

The bills piled up.

Her mother called more often, telling her:

“You’re married now. Focus on security.”

“Art won’t feed a family.”

“Ren works so hard. You should be more realistic.”

Yuki listened because she didn’t want to be a burden.

So she took a safer job.

She cleaned the apartment every day.

She cooked.

She worked late.

She told herself she was doing the right thing.

Ren would come home exhausted.

She didn’t want to trouble him with her worries, so she swallowed them.

A little at a time, her dreams shrank.

When she finally tried to bring it up— Her voice shaking, her fingers cold—

Ren was too tired to notice how fragile she was.

“Ren… do you think I should try art school again?”

He didn’t even look up from the invoices he was sorting.

“If it makes you happy,” he said, sounding half–asleep.

She knew he didn’t mean it lightly.

But it felt like he was answering a stranger, not her.

She felt unseen.

Unheard.

Unimportant.

That feeling didn’t go away.

---

Ren’s Side 

Ren wasn’t trying to be distant.

He wasn’t trying to hurt her.

He was trying to save them.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

He took more shifts.

He said yes to every overtime request.

He carried the weight of the rent, the utilities, the groceries—anything to keep Yuki from worrying.

It was noble.

But it was also stupid.

The more tired he became, the less he talked.

He stopped noticing when Yuki looked sad.

He stopped asking how her day was.

He ate dinner in silence because he was too drained to think.

He believed that was what a “good husband” did—

be reliable, be steady, take everything on alone.

He didn’t realize he was leaving her behind.

And he never admitted that he was breaking under the pressure.

One night, after a fourteen–hour shift, Yuki asked softly:

“Are you happy with me?”

It was the worst timing possible.

His head hurt.

His chest felt heavy.

His thoughts were foggy.

So he told the truth he didn’t understand fully:

“I don’t feel anything lately. I’m just tired.”

He meant his life.

But Yuki heard something else—

I don’t feel anything for you.

Ren didn’t see her expression fall.

He was too tired to see anything.

---

The next week was strange.

Yuki moved around the house softly, like she was a ghost.

Ren barely noticed, buried in another stack of work.

They were still polite.

Still gentle.

They said “good morning”

and “love you”

and “sleep well.”

But their voices were empty.

One night, Yuki sat at the kitchen table, divorce papers folded neatly beside her.

She waited for Ren to come home.

When he walked in, she said:

“Ren… I think we need to stop hurting each other.”

He stood there, frozen in the doorway.

He should have shouted no.

He should have grabbed the papers and ripped them.

He should have held her.

But he was tired.

So tired.

And he believed—foolishly—that maybe she’d be happier without the burden of him.

“…If that’s what you want,” he whispered.

Her heart cracked at how easily he said it.

She signed.

He signed.

And that was it.

No fight.

No begging.

No final passionate moment.

Just two people who loved each other too much to admit they were drowning.

---

They separated quietly.

Yuki moved into a small apartment near her work.

Every time she unpacked a box, she cried—because she kept finding little pieces of Ren everywhere:

A note he wrote telling her not to skip breakfast.

A photo from their first date.

A mug he bought because he thought she’d like the pattern.

She shoved everything into a drawer and locked it.

Ren stayed in the old apartment.

He would reach for Yuki’s side of the bed at night only to find empty sheets.

He would pick up his phone, wanting to send her a message, then stop himself.

They didn’t hate each other.

That made it worse.

Because there was no one to blame.

Just silence.

---

Back in the Present Timeline --

Now, in the new timeline where they are high schoolers again, the memories hit harder.

Yuki stands in the hallway after school, clutching her notebook.

“I wasn’t enough for him,” she thinks.

“I wasn’t strong enough for us.”

Ren sits by the window, staring at the sky.

“I never told her how much she meant to me,” he thinks.

“I never protected her heart.”

Both want to reach out.

Both are scared to repeat the same mistakes.

Their hearts move toward each other, step by fragile step.

But the past timeline’s shadows trail behind them.

And neither knows if getting close again will heal them—

or break them again.