The wine glass just slipped outta my hand, shattering on the floor — kinda like the silence I was trying to keep.
"You weren't even looking at me all night, Daniel." My voice sounded rough.
He didn't even look up from his laptop there on the counter.
"I was busy," he said, not sounding sorry at all, still staring at that screen.
Busy had become his go-to excuse for everything. Ignoring me. Blowing off anything I brought up. Turning into a total stranger.
I stood there with no shoes on, the broken glass all around, like a minefield. He didn't move to help. Didn't ask if I was cut. I almost didn't care, but that hurt even worse than if the glass had sliced me.
I grabbed the counter to steady myself.
"Do you even see me anymore?"
He finally looked up, but his eyes — used to be so soft and loving — were just tired.
"Don't start, Sophia. Not tonight."
Just another brush-off. My heart was pounding. There was nothing there in his voice — just coldness.
"I need more than this."
He blinked like he didn't even get what that meant. We were in the same room, but I felt more alone than ever.
Later, I stood in the shower, letting the hot water burn my skin, trying to wash away the bad feeling. I remembered the last time he really touched me — three months ago. It was quick, quiet, and in the dark. No build-up. No talking. No us.
I put my hands on my body, wondering if I had just become invisible. I wanted to feel desired — not just an obligation. But Daniel hadn't really looked at me like that in so long. I had started to forget what it was like to just be wanted.
I closed my eyes, touching myself — not 'cause I was turned on, but 'cause I wanted to remember.
Daniel used to be all over me in the shower. He'd kiss every single inch of me like he couldn't get enough. Now? I just imagined someone else checking me out. Someone who saw me.
My fingers shook at the thought. It felt wrong, but I couldn't help it. It made me feel something.
I got out of the shower with just a towel on. Daniel was already in bed. His back was to me, his laptop was shut, and the heater was making that low hum.
"You're not even gonna ask how my day was?" I asked.
I walked over and dropped the towel.
"I'm naked, Daniel. Do I even turn you on at all?"
He sighed.
"Sophia, I'm tired."
"Me too," I said. I was tired of asking and wondering if it was me.
Daniel used to be all over me, like he couldn't get enough. Now, I was just... his wife.
I got into bed anyway, my cold skin on his back.
"I miss you," I said, my voice shaky.
He got tense, then relaxed, but didn't say anything. That silence was killing me. I turned to face the ceiling, trying not to cry.
The next morning, he was already getting ready. Glued to his phone.
"Leaving early?" I asked.
"Yeah. Meetings," he replied.
He kissed my forehead — just a quick peck.
"Dinner tonight?" I asked.
He hesitated.
"Maybe. Don't wait up."
Another brush-off. I just stood there and watched him walk away. My chest hurt with everything I wasn't saying.
That afternoon, I went to see my therapist.
"You seem disconnected," she said.
I laughed.
"That's 'cause I am. From him. From myself."
She looked at me.
"Do you still love him?"
I thought about it.
"I don't know. I just miss what we used to be. And I hate what I've become. Always waiting. Always hoping."
She wrote something down, then asked,
"What do you want?"
"I just want to feel alive again," I answered.
That night, I fixed dinner. Candles. Red lingerie under a silk robe. One last shot.
He got home late.
"Wow," he said, looking at the table. "What's this?"
"Us. Trying."
He smiled, but it didn't change the look in his eyes.
We ate without talking. I had too much wine. After dinner, I kissed him — slow, trying to make him want me. He barely moved. I led his hand under my robe. I was tense and ready.
"Please," I said softly.
He hesitated, then kissed me. It was flat — like he wasn't even there.
When we finally had sex, it was like he was just going through the motions. No fire. No moans. No looking at me.
Afterwards, he just rolled over. And I stared at the ceiling and cried.
I felt used and empty. But underneath all that, something else. Something darker.
A heat started up inside me — not 'cause of Daniel, but because of my thoughts. Thinking someone else was there. Watching. Wanting.
I felt ashamed.
And it turned me on.
At 3 a.m., I was out on the balcony, pulled up in a ball, my robe barely on. The city lights mixed with my tears.
My phone buzzed.
A text from a number I didn't know:
You don't deserve to be invisible.
I caught my breath.
Another text:
He doesn't see you, Sophia, but I do.
And like that, everything changed.
I should've stopped right there. Tossed my phone. Locked everything up. Tried to forget it all.
But I kept reading.
I saw you yesterday, on the balcony in that silk robe. You were thinking about me, weren't you?
I gasped and dropped the phone like it bit me. He saw me. It wasn't just in my head. It was real.
Someone saw me.
Which meant he was close. Maybe he had been here all along.
I scanned the bedroom. The shadows. That crack in the closet door.
My robe felt too open, all of a sudden. I grabbed it tight over my chest and backed away from the window — like it was giving me away.
The phone buzzed again.
You bite your lip when you want to be touched. I saw you do it again. I can make you scream, not cry.
My legs shook. There was no name. No picture. Nothing to tell me who it was.
I should call someone. Caleb, even Daniel. Or the cops. But I didn't.
Instead, I touched my lips — because it was true. I had bitten my lip.
And the messed up part? I wasn't just afraid. I felt something else — a dizzying heat that made my skin get tight under the silk.
---
The phone buzzed again.
Go to the closet.
I stared at the screen.
No, I wouldn't, I said to myself. I was somebody's wife. Still sane in my head.
Another buzz.
Now.
Something about that hit me.
I went to the closet, my bare feet on the cold floor. The door made a little creak as I pulled it open.
Inside was dark and quiet — just clothes, shoes, and a small black box sitting there at the bottom.
I crouched down slowly, my heart beating. I picked up the box. My hands were shaking.
The box was smooth. Expensive. The kind of thing a man would have. Not a boy — but a man who knew what he wanted.
Inside was a folded red silk blindfold and a note:
You looked beautiful tonight. Paris was just how things got set. Don't scream.
I couldn't breathe.
Paris.
My knees almost gave out. I had cried in the bathroom that night in Paris. Only Daniel knew — unless this stranger had been there. Watching me. Hearing me. Maybe even touched me without me knowing.
My skin broke out in chills.
Yet, I still felt that twist inside me. I should scream. Run. Tell someone.
But instead, I stared at the blindfold.
Another buzz.
Do you want more? Put it on.