Our room was a cloudy liquorice where a small glow from my tea light candle’s flame occupied one corner. The candle’s faint warmth tickled the coolness of my exposed feet. I listened to the quiet snores of my husband while citrus scents of blood orange floated under my nose. Another night of insomnia. Silently I rolled off our papyrus floor mat and slipped into my black abaya and wore my gold sandals from Sharm market. The night was warm against my skin. When the door latch clicked into place, I knew I would never return to him.