I wasn't trying to listen

I wasn't trying to listen.

My food was in front of me

and I was eating, minding my business.

But she said it clearly enough:

I can't do this anymore.

Not angry. Not loud.

Just finished.

He didn't argue.

Didn't even blink.

He just sat there,

and that silence said more than anything.

I could see her face in the window glass—

her mouth had already stopped moving.

She was done talking.

She was done with him.

And I sat there eating my sandwich,

holding someone else's ending in my mouth,

not supposed to know,

but knowing anyway.