A/N This story is completely separate to my others, although you may see one or two similar themes.

Dislaimer: I do not own any of The Worst Witch characters.

April

"I cannot do this anymore."

Imogen looked up as her wife walked into the staffroom. She knew what she was going to say, she didn't want to hear it but like a masochist she still asked the question.

"Do what?"

Constance took a deep breath and stared, not at the woman in front of her but rather out of the window behind her. Why was she making her say this? Why did she have to be the one to break her own heart even more than it already was?

"We cannot remain married. This was a mistake. I have filed for divorce."

It hurt. Imogen could not accurate describe the pain. Like a knife to her heart? Like a bullet to her head? All the cliches that she had heard floated around in her head but none of them were enough to articulate it. She'd known it was coming but had hoped to find a way to stop it. To convince Constance that she was wrong, that they had both been wrong but she couldn't. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe if things had been different? If they had been different? But that hadn't happened. There was no them.

There was something else to be considered though.

"But what about? What will you do?"

Still looking straight ahead Constance steeled herself to answer. She could not face any further questions.

"You need not worry. I have made arrangements to deal with the situation. Please do not ask any questions. It is no longer your concern."

"No. No not that. Anything but that. Was that really a better alternative than staying together. How much does she hate me to make this choice?"

Imogen wanted to stop this, to beg Constance to change her mind but there was nobody in the world more stubborn than the woman in front of her. Right now her jaw was set and nobody would be able to make her see sense. Even her own wife.

It actually hurt to breathe but she had to, she needed to get the words out. That way Constance would leave and she could let her heart turn into the tiny little pieces it was about to crack into.

"If that's what you want. Just let me know what I need to do."

"She didn't even put up an argument." Constance thought to herself.

Had she wanted an argument? Of course she had, she wanted her wife to fight for her, fight for them. But she didn't. Who would fight for her? She was no prize. This was the proof she needed. Imogen could do so much better, she deserved better. It was time for the witch to leave before she broke down. Broke down and begged for the woman she loved to love her above all else.

"Of course. I have already packed your things. They are in your former room."

"Already?" Imogen didn't even know why she was surprised as she had the thought. She had been sleeping in her old room for a while now. This was the longest conversation they had conducted in weeks.

"Thank you, I apprec…" She hadn't even finished the word before Constance had vanished to goodness knows where.

"Where" was their bedroom.

"My bedroom", Constance corrected herself as she appeared inside the room. She went to sit on the bed but didn't have the strength to walk the four steps forward to the item of furniture that they had shared. Instead she slid down the heavy wooden door, pulling her legs up to her chin and staring straight ahead.

"I will not cry. I will not cry. Weak girls cry."

She repeated the mantra that had gotten her through her teenage years. It nearly worked. It would have worked if her sitting location didn't allow her to see something she had missed when packing.

There, under the chair was Imogen's favourite blue jumper.

"Even now I'm picking up after her." Constance reached out to retrieve the article of clothing. It was just a jumper, it meant nothing.

As soon as it was in her hands she caught the distinctive smell of the woman she loved. Fresh, clean. Imogen.

Then the tears came as she spoke to nobody.

"Why did we go to that conference? Why wasn't I more careful? Why can't she love me? Why wasn't it me? I need her. I love her. Now what do I have? Nothing, I have nothing. I am nothing."

The one thing that Constance had, she did not want and she was about to lose a whole lot more by making this decision.

As her body wracked with sobs she rocked back and forth on the ground clutching the jumper to her chest. Even though the smell was taunting her she couldn't put it down. If she could hold onto the smell and use her imagination she could pretend that this wasn't happening. Pretend her life wasn't ending.

Downstairs, still sitting in the same spot, the other party to their marriage was contemplating what had just happened. One tear rolled down her cheek as she played with the ring on her finger.

"What did I do?"

In ways it had been a game of charades, one it looked like they would both win. Now it seemed that neither would.