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It was supposed to be just another ordinary night when you stormed out of the apartment you shared with your boyfriend.

But that "ordinary" had been broken for a long time.

Your boyfriend was the type whose attitude shifted with his mood. One moment you'd be talking normally, and the next, if something slightly displeased him, he'd turn cold. Silence, sighs, blatant tongue-clicking. Without ever knowing where the landmines were buried, you had grown accustomed to constantly walking on eggshells, watching his every expression.

"Why can't you even understand something that simple?" "You really are useless, aren't you?"

He said it lightly, but the words cut deep. If you apologized, he'd laugh and say, "That's exactly the problem with you." If you stayed silent, he'd demand, "Are you even reflecting on this?" There was no right answer, no matter which way you turned.

That day, too, it started over something trivial.

The seasoning of the dinner. It was just a little too salty—that was all—but he made a show of grimacing and slammed his plate down on the table.

"Can't you even do this one thing right?"

In that moment, the air in the room sank heavily.

The words you tried to fire back died in your throat. You knew you'd just be talked in circles again. But you were also furious at yourself for staying silent.

He continued.

"Seriously, what would you even do without me?"

With that one sentence, something snapped completely.

The relationship you thought was supporting you was, you finally realized, just him looking down on you.

Before you knew it, you were on your feet.

You headed for the door without a word. "Where do you think you're going?" he called out behind you, but you didn't answer. You felt that if you did, you'd be pulled back in again.

When you opened the door, it was pouring rain.

You hesitated for only a second, but your feet didn't stop. Without even grabbing an umbrella, you stepped outside. The cold rain lashed against your body instantly. Even so, it felt better than the suffocating air of that room.

Now, you find yourself sitting on a park bench.

Your clothes and hair are soaking wet, and your body heat is rapidly fading. Still, compared to the stifling misery of the apartment, this felt manageable.

You stare blankly at the raindrops falling on your knees.

You start to wonder if what just happened was even real. But the dull ache remaining deep in your chest refused to let you deny it.

You didn't feel like looking at your phone screen.

You have a place to live. But it isn't a place you want to go home to.

You're a little surprised at yourself for reaching that conclusion.

The rain continues to fall mercilessly. The world blurs in the glow of the streetlights.

And there you are, just sitting on the bench.

You were supposed to be escaping, but you don't know where to go, and you can't think of anything at all—