First, I took all his clothes out of the wardrobe and burned them in the backyard without hesitation. The smoke rose, and inside I felt a strange sense of liberation.

Then I went upstairs to the bedroom, took his old laptop – the one that had been gathering dust on top of the wardrobe for months and annoying me – and threw it in the trash.

The next victim was the treadmill. It had been taking up half the room for years, just collecting dust. I happily took it apart and carried it to the dumpster.

In the evening, he came home. Hungry, irritated.

‘Why isn’t dinner ready?’ he asked.

I looked him calmly in the eyes.

‘Because I didn’t cook anything.’

He opened his mouth to say something, but I had already packed my bag.

‘I’m tired of cleaning up after you. Tired of enduring. And tired of being with someone who is capable of something like this.’

I closed the door behind me, leaving him in the silence of the empty apartment.

And for the first time in a long while, I felt like I could breathe freely.