[ WP ] `` You have 24 hours . No more , no less . ''

I sit still in the darkness of my living room. I stare blankly out the window, as rain meanders its way down, obstructing my view of the street -- the street my wife drove off on two hours ago. Our marriage had been prosaic lately, to put it lightly. Now, I'll accept my fair share of the blame, and Mary has every right to be angry with me. I was absent; I was apathetic; I was remiss of any marital duties. 
 
 I ca n't tell you why I had lost interest, but I need to think fast. She gave me an ultimatum -- a directive of sorts -- to give her a reason to stay with me. We'd been married for three years now and it was thrilling at first: we were hopelessly in love with each other. Somewhere along our journey, the spark flickered, and one day it disappeared. 
 
 What hurts me the most to see is Mary is still deeply in love with me. She brings home my favourite doughnut when I'm under stress because she knows it'll make me feel loved ( and it unfailingly does ). She'll affectionately play with my hair as I lay reading, complimenting me on my eyes. She'll squeeze my arm as we walk, which makes me feel wanted -- it makes me feel needed. But I find myself unable to reciprocate and it's breaking her heart; it's breaking my heart. 
 
 I'm faced with an ostensibly incurable dilemma. I now have less than 22 hours to convince her that I do still love her, that I will make her happy like I once did. But do I want to? She's the one working -- no, *agonizing* -- to make our relationship what it once was while I lay emotionally dormant. Emotionally empty. 
 
 Let me declare: I do love her. I always have and always will. But I'm broken. I ca n't imagine what it's like to labour tirelessly to make the person you've chosen to spend the rest of your life with happier to no avail. 
 
 Hours pass on this befittingly dreary night as I sit in my chair, still motionless. I rummage through my unkempt desk, searching for a pen and paper. Maybe if I jot down reasons I want our relationship to work, things will become clearer. 
 
 *Reason # 1: *... 
 
 Pensively, I try to write down something... anything. But nothing comes to mind. How can I not think of one reason? What the fuck is wrong with me? Mary is perfect. She's everything I want in a partner and she's everything that should make me unbroken. But, seemingly, something does not add up. 
 
 I rip the paper up and angrily throw the pen off the wall. Tears start to roll down my face just as the rain rolls down the window. I shiver as a cold wind blows through the room, which leads me to believe Mary has returned home. This is n't the case. The house is empty. 
 
 I sit in silence for the next 20 hours. Complete and utter silence. 
 
 I pack my things. The last thing I'll remember about Mary is her standing in the doorway, crying. Crying like she had many times before. 
 
 She'll come home and I wo n't be there. But I have n't been there for quite some time now.
