Elena stood at the kitchen sink, her hands submerged in the warm, soapy water as she mechanically scrubbed dishes. Outside, the world was bathed in the golden glow of late afternoon, but the warmth failed to touch her. It remained outside, just like the feeling of unease that had taken root inside her ever since the night she woke to find David gone.
It had been a few weeks ago, a night like any other, the two of them falling asleep in their usual tangle of limbs and whispered jokes. But at some point, she awoke to the absence of his warmth beside her. The clock read 3:42 AM, and she found him in the living room, staring into the dark, his face illuminated by the soft glow of his phone.
“David?” she called softly.
He flinched, quickly locking his phone and turning to face her with a tight smile. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to wake you. Just couldn’t sleep.”
The explanation seemed reasonable. Yet, there was a hollow ring to it, an echo of something unsaid. She tried to dismiss it, chalk it up to the haze of night. But the feeling lingered, like the final chord of a song that won’t quite fade.
As days turned into weeks, small things began accumulating, each adding weight to her growing suspicion. There were the gaps in stories, moments where he recalled a day or an event differently than she did. Sometimes he’d mentioned running into friends she’d never heard of, or recalled details that didn’t match her own memories.
“Are you sure you’ve met James?” he’d say with a puzzled frown when she couldn’t place a name.
And then there were the silences, those moments when she’d ask a question only to be met with a pause that stretched a heartbeat too long, a sigh that seemed to hold something back.
It was the mismatch between their realities that troubled her most. One morning, as they sat at the breakfast table, David recounted a weekend spent visiting his parents — full of descriptions of the garden, his mother’s new cat, a small family gathering. Elena had felt a prickling on the back of her neck as she listened.
She remembered that weekend. He’d told her he was away on a work trip, something last minute, something urgent. She had even found a cocktail napkin from a bar in his suitcase, picturing him looking out over the city from some high-rise hotel.
Every word he spoke now felt like a separate thread, unraveling the fabric of their shared life. That night, as she lay awake beside him, she wondered how long she could keep pretending.
Her internal monologue grew louder, her thoughts a cacophony of doubt and fear. ‘What am I missing? Am I imagining things? Is it me?’
One evening, as they settled into their routine, she decided to confront the growing chasm. “David, we need to talk.” Her heart thrummed in her chest as she spoke.
He looked up from his book, a slight crease between his brows. “What’s up?”
“This isn’t working,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “You’re…different lately. Disconnected.”
He was silent for a moment, too long, and then he took a deep breath. “You’re right.”
The words hung in the air like a living thing, a barrier suddenly tangible between them. She waited, breath held, for what he would say next.
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he began, voice low. “But…I’ve been seeing someone.”
Elena’s heart stopped. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.
“Not a person,” he continued, misunderstanding her silence. “A therapist.”
Her breath rushed back in a startled exhale. “A therapist?”
He nodded, eyes on his hands, twisting the wedding band around his finger. “I didn’t want to worry you. It’s nothing bad, just…things I needed to work through.”
The relief she felt was almost a physical thing. But there was something else, too — a lingering sense of betrayal, not by what he had done, but by the way he had kept it hidden.
“Why didn’t you tell me, David?” she asked softly.
“I thought I could fix it myself, whatever it was. I didn’t want to burden you with it.”
They sat in silence, the world outside their window slowly fading into twilight. Elena reached across the space between them, taking his hand in hers.
“We’re supposed to carry these things together,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded, and she could feel the tension ebbing away, leaving something raw and new in its place. Trust, like a bridge, could be rebuilt, stronger for having been tested.
In the quiet of the room, she could hear the walls whispering — the sound of secrets released, and the slow, deliberate weaving of their lives back together.