"I thought maybe we could… You know, before lunch." He turned his head slightly, eyes half closed. "Tessa, not now. I'm exhausted."
Disappointment slammed into me like a truck. I forced a smile. "Okay." I stood and left the room before he could see the way my eyes welled with tears.
Later that night, I made his favorite dinner. Pasta with creamy sauce, roasted garlic chicken, and a bottle of wine breathing on the counter. I even lit candles. He barely touched the food. "I'm not hungry," he said, staring at his phone. I forced a laugh. "You used to devour this." He didn't even look up.
"Tastes different."
Ouch! I didn't say a word. I just stood, took the plates to the kitchen, and cleared the table like a damn housemaid. Something had changed. Ethan was slipping through my fingers and I didn't know how to act or even how to stop it. I didn't know if I wanted to. And yet, a voice inside me whispered: Don't ask. Don't confront him. Watch. Listen. Be quiet. I had played the sweet wife long enough. But maybe it was time I started playing a different role, one that didn't involve begging for scraps of affection. Because I deserved more. I deserved the truth. Even if I had to bleed for it.
That night, I climbed into bed hoping, just hoping, that maybe he would reach for me. That maybe the cold shell of a man who had walked through the door wasn't all that was left of my Ethan. He slid under the covers beside me, phone in hand, fingers scrolling, face dimly lit by the screen's glow. I waited until he set it on the nightstand before I turned to him. "Goodnight" I whispered, leaning in for a kiss. He pressed a dry peck against my lips, nothing more than skin touching skin, and rolled away without a word. Just like that.
I stared at the ceiling, my lips still tingling with rejection, my throat tightening and my heart heavy. My chest rose with a breath I didn't release until tears slipped silently onto the pillow. He used to kiss me like it was his religion. Now he barely looked at me. I turned to my side and pulled the blanket over my shoulder, the warmth of it no match for the cold spreading through my body. My heart broke in the dark, quietly. Again.
The morning light spilled across the room, golden and soft, but everything in me felt heavy and gray. I heard the shower running. Without thinking, I slipped out of bed and padded towards the bathroom. We used to get ready together, brushing our teeth side by side, laughing through the fogged-up mirror, and sharing space like it was sacred. It was our thing.
I stepped in and closed the door behind me. Steam curled through the air. Ethan stood under the water, eyes closed, hands running through his wet hair. Attractive as ever. I reached for the edge of his back, fingers brushing gently over his skin. He flinched and pulled away. I tried again "Ethan..." " Don't" he muttered, not turning around. My voice trembled. " Talk to me. "What's wrong? "Why are you like this?" He turned then, eyes cold, jaw clenched. "You want to know what's wrong?" "Yes," I whispered desperately.
In a flash, he grabbed my wrist, yanking me forward. I gasped as he pinned me against the cold tiled wall. "The problem is you," he said as he shoved inside me hard. "Is this what you want, huh?" He growled, his breath hot against my ear. "To be touched? "To feel something?" My mouth parted to speak but no sound came. He was ruthless. My back hit the wall with each thrust, the pain sharp, the force overwhelming. I gripped his shoulders, confused, dazed, trying to understand what was happening. This wasn't making love. This was punishment.
I turned my head slightly and caught my reflection in the fogged mirror, hair stuck to my face, mouth trembling, and eyes wide with tears. That wasn't me. And the man holding me down? That wasn't my husband. Ethan had always been gentle. Playful. Passionate. He used to worship every inch of my body like I was sacred. This man was a stranger. Cold. Angry. Violent. He finished with a grunt, breathing hard like an animal, hands still gripping my hips. He didn't kiss me. Didn't look me in the eye. He just stepped back, turned off the shower, and walked out without a word.
I slid down the wall slowly, letting the water rinse his presence off my skin, but nothing could wash away the ache inside. Something had broken. And I wasn't sure it could be fixed.