There is a smell of candles emanating from the kitchen window. I can hear giggling noises and chatter as I exit the car, then sudden silence. I knew this was coming. I had secretly hoped for this for years. A picture-perfect sit-com moment out of the books of 90's nostalgia. But now that it is here I don't really want it.

Why now? Why you? Is this some sick way to apologise for you hitting me last week? Or is it just to look cool in front of our shared friends, who I know would be on your side if we ever broke up? Just so they can say they knew I was not the one and you would deserve better. But none of them knows of your dark side. They don’t know what happens behind closed doors every time you come home from the bar.

I unlock the front door and toss the bunch of keys into the large wooden bowl on the countertop. The moist air inside the entrance hallway is laced with traces of cinnamon and chocolate. God I hate cinnamon and you should know that by now. But you rarely listen anyway.

The candle incenses and fizzing drinks numbingly audible. The dog not coming to greet me. Obvious signs. But I don't want this, not here, not with you. So I pick up the keys gain, grab my passport and close the door quietly behind me. Closing the door on you and a life which made me feel used to putting on a mask to hide my feelings.