Disclaimer: I don't own House.

No More Heartache

You wake up to the absence of his snoring and for a moment you wish it was a bad dream. You close your eyes and wipe the tears from your cheeks. You had ordered the divorce papers. It had been the only way out.

You knew it was wrong from the moment you woke up the next morning from your alcohol-induced haze. You look at the man beside you and instantly feel sick – worse than when you woke up next to James at opposite ends of the bed. You knew you had done wrong by James … by you.

Two wrongs don't make a right, how that rings true! Maybe James can do this and not feel guilty, but you couldn't. You just couldn't.

James had cheated so many times, and perhaps you thought in following his example you would feel better – like you had achieved something. Like you weren't a fool. How wrong could you be? You weren't James, you couldn't do something like this again … it wasn't right.

So you told him.

God, you had the decency to tell him. He had never told you … you had either stayed in blissful ignorance or you had found out. It wasn't too hard – after a while you just started getting a sixth sense. And then a while after that, you just started getting paranoid. It was hell in your home and you knew it.

Of course you two had your good moments. Sometimes in between the fights you still found time to love him, and he found time to love you. But somehow you knew it could never last. But you loved James, remember? No, you love James. You'd always love him. He loved you in his own way, you supposed. Just not enough.

He would never have had the courage to leave on his own. No matter how many affairs he'd had. And you'd never have the courage to tell him that you didn't love him anymore and that you wanted him to leave.

It would be a lie anyway.

So you chose the easy way out, you think as you get dressed for another day of mundane routine. You had an affair. You set both of you free. Because James wouldn't stay – he hadn't enough courage for that. And you wouldn't ask him to stay either – you didn't have any courage at all.

So you told him.

And now, as you walk through your cold, empty kitchen – really, is it any different from when you two were still together? – you rest your hand on your stomach and thank God that you two of you never had kids. They would have stayed young too long and grown up too fast. Besides, it wouldn't have made any difference if you had told James about the miscarriage. He didn't even have the courage to work it out himself.

Finis