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Tyler Matthews looked at the woman standing at the entrance to his apartment and realised she was a stranger. She looked and sounded almost the same as the woman he had fallen in love with seven years earlier, but the edges were harder on this iteration, the eyes harsh, lips without a smile and turned into a disapproving sneer. This version of Amy was an impostor, a cold thing in an Amy mask.
‘You realise this will be it, don’t you? Our marriage will be over if you do this.’ The impostor Amy crossed her arms to emphasise the point, one of her many bad habits that he had grown to detest.
‘Yeah, I know that,’ Tyler said, and it was true. He knew it was over and didn’t care. It had been a while since he had felt anything that could have been taken for love. First, there was frustration and tolerance which, over time, had grown into bitter indifference and longing to be free of the shackles he had married into.