She starts in the kitchen first, cleaning the dishes.
Gently, she picks up each porcelain plate, sullied by so many meals together, washes the dirt away, and neatly places them back on the shelf,
spotless.
The living room is a mess.
Slowly, methodically, she clears away the clutter.
She turns off the light, pulls back the curtains, and takes her time.
On the coffee table, there is a picture of them, in Istanbul. It is drizzling, and she is cold. He is smiling at the camera like a child.
Tenderly, she picks it up, wipes the years of dust off its frame, and puts it back carefully, just as she found it.
In the bedroom, she makes the bed.
Lovingly, she folds the sheets and pulls the blankets over the, until every crease disappears.
Soon, the bed is perfect and new.
You would hardly believe anyone had ever slept in it.
When she is done, she goes to the bathroom,
and washes her hands.
Then, very calmly, she opens the front door and walks out of his life forever.
He is as damned as he seems.
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