The Breaking Point

Lingling woke with a stiff neck and a raw ache in her chest. She hadn't slept in the bedroom, not after seeing Orm drift off in tears the night before. Instead, she'd ended up dozing fitfully in her home office chair, surrounded by piles of paperwork she hadn't even touched.

How many nights have we spent like this—separate and miserable? she wondered, rubbing her eyes. The memory of Orm's ultimatum "If things don't change soon, I'm not sure how much longer I can..."—kept replaying in her mind. Lingling's stomach clenched at the thought. Could Orm really leave?

She forced herself to stand, legs protesting from her makeshift sleeping position. The condo felt eerily quiet. She couldn't tell if Orm was awake yet—maybe she was on the couch again, or maybe she'd already fled to her studio.

Eventually, Lingling trudged into the kitchen. There, she found Orm standing by the sink, rinsing out a coffee mug. Orm wore a neutral expression, but Lingling noticed the shadows under her eyes, the slump to her usually confident shoulders.

Lingling opened her mouth, searching for something to say, some thread of normalcy. "Morning," she managed, voice rough.

Orm nodded, not quite meeting Lingling's gaze. "Morning." Her tone was flat, subdued, like she'd tucked away all emotion.

An awkward pause stretched between them, thick with unspoken fears. Lingling wanted to ask—Did you sleep at all? Are you still leaving me?—but she couldn't form the words. Instead, she hovered by the fridge, letting the silence choke them both.

Finally, Orm sighed. "I have to head to the studio. Big day."

Lingling read the subtext in Orm's guarded eyes—I'm not ready to talk. She gave a tiny nod, throat tight. "Right. I... have a busy day too."

They parted with no hug, no promise to see each other later. Lingling stood in the kitchen until she heard the front door click shut, signaling Orm's departure. Only then did she bury her face in her hands, wrestling down a surge of panic: I can't lose her, but how do I fix this?

Late that morning, Orm tried to immerse herself in her work at her small design studio. Her friend Becky had swung by earlier, offering gentle encouragement—reminders that Orm needed to be honest about her marriage. The words rang in Orm's head, stirring a sense of impending confrontation that left her stomach roiling.

She set down a half-finished sketch of an asymmetrical evening gown and checked her phone. A message from Ying blinked on the screen: "Hey, are you at the studio? I have the final proofs from our shoot. Want to show them to you in person."

Orm hesitated, remembering how her interactions with Ying seemed to inflame Lingling's jealousy. But this is work, she told herself. Nothing more. She texted back: "Sure, come by in thirty?"

When Ying arrived, her camera bag in tow, Orm braced for the usual undercurrent of flirtation. Ying had a habit of offering compliments that felt a shade too personal, but Orm resolved to keep the conversation strictly professional.

"Thanks for seeing me," Ying said, setting her bag on a nearby table. She pulled out a tablet, tapping through photos from a recent event. "I think these captures really highlight your designs."

Orm forced a small smile, scanning the images. They were good—Ying had a knack for playing with light and angles. "They look great. I appreciate you finalizing them so quickly."

Ying shrugged, leaning casually against the table. "No problem. You deserve someone who sees your brilliance every day." Her tone was light, but Orm caught the subtle edge beneath it, an implied hint about Lingling's absence.

"I have someone," Orm answered softly, trying to keep her voice neutral. "Even if it's... complicated right now."

Ying's brow arched in sympathy. "Hey, I get it. Relationships can be messy. But you shouldn't have to beg for attention, Orm."

Orm stiffened, struggling to decide how to respond. "It's not that simple. We're both busy. It's... complicated," she repeated, hoping to end the subject.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Lingling stepped through the studio's open door at that exact moment. She'd decided to come by unannounced, desperate to talk to Orm after their tense morning. Instead, she froze in the hallway, hearing Ying's last sentence drift through the air: "...you shouldn't have to beg for attention..."

Lingling's heart lurched. It sounded like they were discussing her—and not in a flattering way. Creeping a step closer, she strained to listen.

"Look," Ying continued, lowering her voice. "I'm just saying you deserve better. You shouldn't be the only one fighting for a marriage."

Lingling's pulse thundered in her ears. Is Orm complaining to Ying about me? The idea burned like acid in her gut. In her panicked mind, it sounded like Orm was ready to leave, and Ying was the shoulder she might lean on—or worse, something more.

She didn't hear Orm's response—how Orm quietly insisted, "No one can replace her," or how she defended her commitment to Lingling, despite their problems. Lingling heard only enough to trigger her deepest fears, and she fled before Orm could spot her.

Lingling marched down the street, tears threatening to spill. She ignored the stares of passersby, too consumed by the knot of jealousy and heartbreak tightening in her chest. So that's it? Orm's telling Ying I don't give her attention, that I'm not there for her? Is she going to leave me for good?

She ducked into a nearby coffee shop, finding a secluded corner table where she could bury her face in her hands. Her phone buzzed with work notifications, but she ignored them all. Right now, the only thing that mattered was the sense of betrayal clawing at her.

Ying is a photographer, she's talented, she's attractive in her own way—if she's offering Orm the support I'm not giving, then... oh God. The thought was too painful to finish. Lingling's mind swirled with images of Orm confiding in Ying, smiling at her, maybe even... No, she told herself, I can't think like that.

Despite her self-chiding, the fear wouldn't abate. She wanted to confront Orm immediately, to rage at her for letting Ying think she could swoop in and take Orm's affection. But what if Orm actually wants that? a traitorous voice whispered. What if she's so tired of waiting for me that she's ready to move on?

A tear slid down Lingling's cheek. She swiped at it angrily and stood, determined. I have to talk to Orm face to face, she resolved. No more avoiding this. If she wants to leave me for Ying, I need to hear it from her lips.

That evening, Orm arrived home to a tense quiet. She deposited her keys on the counter, noticing Lingling's briefcase strewn haphazardly on the couch. Her stomach churned—Lingling was clearly back, and probably upset.

She found Lingling in the living room, pacing, arms crossed protectively over her chest. The moment Lingling saw Orm, she stilled, her gaze lit with a storm of emotions—anger, hurt, and a desperate need for answers.

"You and Ying," Lingling began, voice trembling with barely contained fury. "I overheard enough to know you've been talking about our marriage behind my back!"

Orm blinked, taking a step closer. "Ling, that's not—"

"Don't lie to me!" Lingling snapped, tears shining in her eyes. "I heard her telling you that you 'shouldn't have to beg for attention.' That I'm not there for you. And you— you let her think she could replace me!"

Orm's jaw dropped at the accusation. "What? No. I told her—"

"What else did you tell her?" Lingling demanded, voice cracking. "You think I don't see how she looks at you? How she acts like she knows you better than I do?"

Orm's chest tightened, heart pounding with mingled hurt and frustration. "Lingling, you're misunderstanding. No one could replace you." She inhaled sharply, tears edging her vision. "But it's not like you've given me much reason to believe you even want me around lately."

Lingling let out a pained scoff. "I'm the one not giving you reason? You have her ear, telling her all about how you're fighting alone. I feel like I'm the only one trying!"

Orm's eyes flashed with raw emotion. "Well, you're not! Because I've been holding this relationship together by a thread, Ling. And you—" She swallowed, blinking hard. "You don't even see me anymore."

A beat passed, filled by the echo of their ragged breathing. Lingling's next words were a strangled mix of fear and accusation: "And you let her think she could replace me!"

Orm pressed her lips together, tears escaping despite her attempts to hold them back. "No one could replace you," she repeated fiercely, "but it doesn't feel like you care if I stay or leave!"

The force behind the words snapped what little control Lingling had left. Her shoulders sagged, and she let out a ragged sob. "That's not fair. Everything I do, I do for us—so we can have a better future. You think it's easy for me?"

Orm's voice rose, decades of heartbreak fueling it. "Then why do I feel like a ghost in my own home? Why am I constantly begging for your time—time you give to your clients, your colleagues, but never me?"

The room bristled with tension so thick it felt nearly tangible. Lingling struggled for a reply, but only managed to choke out, "I'm trying, Orm. Can't you see that?"

Tears streamed down Orm's cheeks now. "I see you going through the motions. I see forced intimacy, quick kisses that mean nothing because your mind's always elsewhere. What I don't see is you—the real you." She swallowed hard, taking one shaky step back. "I'm so close to giving up, Ling."

Lingling's expression wrenched with devastation. "What are you saying?"

Orm stared at her, tears trailing down her face. "I'm saying I can't keep doing this if you won't fight with me. If this is just me, battling both your neglect and your jealousy, I... I'm done."

For a moment, neither spoke. The air crackled with heartbreak and fury. Orm cast a glance around the living room, her gaze lingering on photos of them in happier times—trips, birthdays, lazy weekends once filled with laughter.

Lingling took a step forward, voice trembling. "Orm, please... I never wanted—"

But Orm raised a hand, stopping her mid-sentence. She inhaled shakily, as though making a decision in that instant. "I have to go. I can't be here tonight. Not after... all this."

A flicker of panic ignited in Lingling's eyes. "Go? Where?"

Orm's answer was barely above a whisper. "I don't know. Becky's couch, maybe. Anywhere but here." She snatched up a small overnight bag they usually used for weekend trips. Her movements were clumsy, hurried, tears still threatening to blind her.

Lingling's voice cracked with desperation. "You'd just leave me like this? Right after—after everything we've said?"

Orm paused, bag half-packed, tears streaking her cheeks. "I love you," she said, voice trembling, "but I'm so tired of fighting alone. If you won't stand beside me... I'm sorry, Ling."

Lingling reached out as if to grab Orm's arm, but Orm zipped the bag and slung it over her shoulder. She sidestepped Lingling, gaze brimming with pain. At the door, she hesitated, casting one final, anguished look over her shoulder.

"Don't let this be the end," Lingling pleaded, tears now flowing. "I—I need you."

Orm's heart twisted painfully. "Then show me," she managed, voice cracking. "Show me you need me, Ling. Because I... I can't see it anymore."

With that, she slipped through the door, letting it close softly behind her. The echo of that click seemed to reverberate through the silent condo, punctuating the sudden emptiness.

Lingling stood frozen, tears streaming. Seconds crawled by before her knees buckled, sending her crumpling to the floor. A strangled sob ripped from her throat. She tried to call Orm's name, but no sound emerged except broken gasps.

Outside, headlights swept across the window as Orm presumably pulled away, leaving Lingling in a desolate hush. The photos on the walls—a testament to their once-perfect love—seemed to mock the reality of their fractured marriage.