I hadn't slept well. Not in the tossing-turning way. It was more like my body had rested, but my heart had stayed halfway awake. Not restless… just unsettled. I didn't want to open my eyes. There was something about the morning air that felt a little heavier. Not loud. Just… dense.
I kept thinking about his eyes—those soft, watery ones that had looked up at me right before he slipped. I hadn't pushed him, I knew that. But maybe I turned too quickly. Maybe I could've caught him. Or stepped back faster. Or said something kinder. Or just... smiled more?
I didn't know what haunted me more—the thud of his body hitting the ground, or the eerie silence that followed before he grunted in pain.
But I didn't want to spiral again.
So I got up early, quietly, and wandered into the kitchen. Humming something soft under my breath—not because I felt joyful, but because I needed something to hold onto. A tune, a rhythm. Anything that would make the silence feel less accusing.
I started making tea. The clinking of the spoon against the cup was oddly grounding. I moved slowly, like my body was on autopilot. Then I heard him stir in the other room.
He was awake.
The sound of his feet padding across the floor pulled something loose in my chest.
When he came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, I stiffened for a second—just a second, and then melted into him. His face nestled against my shoulder. His lips brushed my skin gently. Warm. Loving. Real.
I smiled. Genuinely. Not because I had forced myself to—but because his touch brought clarity. I hadn't realized how much I'd needed that— him. It was like the storm inside me couldn't find footing anymore.
We kissed slowly. Like two people who'd missed each other, even though we'd been side by side all along.
That morning, something inside me softened. For the next few days, we laughed more. I caught him watching me with that old sparkle in his eyes. The one that used to make me blush back when we were just dating. I leaned into his touches without hesitation. My fingers sought his when we sat together. He whispered small things into my ear that made me giggle—and in those moments, the weight of the old man, the fall, the accident… it blurred at the edges.
But only blurred. Not gone.
There was still something—something quiet and strange—nestled deeper than I wanted to admit. But I didn't look at it. I didn't name it. I didn't even feel it fully. It was just… there. Like a seed planted without my knowledge.
Then came the fourth day.
He looked especially handsome that morning—standing by the mirror, adjusting his collar, humming. I caught myself staring. There was something about his contentment that made me feel both proud and… small. Not in a bad way.
I picked out a dress without thinking. Something breezy. He smiled when he saw me. I liked that smile. It felt like sunlight.
And then, as we stepped out—
A woman.
She was walking quickly, head lowered, eyes scanning the ground like she didn't want to be seen. She looked… familiar, and yet not. There was something in her body language that made me uncomfortable. I couldn't explain it.
She knocked. Sharp, hushed knocks. The door opened fast.
The young man. Shirtless and Confident.
He didn't hesitate. He grabbed her wrist hard and yanked her inside with a smile that wasn't just a smile. It was… something else. Something that made the air change. His other hand, bold, shameless, slid to her—
I looked away.
My breath had hitched without warning. I felt heat crawl up my neck. A kind of flutter. Disgust? Shock? Something else? I didn't know.
I felt my husband's eyes on me—and so I smiled. Softly. Dismissively. Like I hadn't noticed anything unusual. Like we'd just seen a neighbor picking up groceries.
But something had shifted. Not between us. No, we still walked closely, still exchanged small jokes. But in me—a flicker of something I didn't understand. Something I wasn't looking at.
Later, at dinner, I tried to shake it off.
The restaurant was beautiful. He looked at me like I was glowing. I smiled, touched his fingers, whispered something silly. It felt good. Natural.
And then—I saw her.
The same woman. Different man.
He was older, softer in manner. He touched her lower back gently, possessively. Like a husband. A lover. Not someone who yanked her in by the wrist.
I didn't say a word. Neither did he.
But we both felt it.
My fingers wrapped tighter around the wine glass. My smile remained, but it felt… thinner. I watched her sit with her husband, so at ease, so cleanly composed—and all I could hear was the sound of her being pulled behind a door.
I leaned closer to my husband, needing him, craving his steadiness.
That night, he held me tighter. I nestled into him, let my hips brush his, felt his breath warm against my neck. He kissed the spot behind my ear and whispered something sweet I don't even remember.
I closed my eyes.
Sleep came. But in some quiet corner of my soul, something was stretching. Slowly. Silently. Like a seed beginning to crack open underground.
And I… didn't even notice.