The drive home was silent. Emma watched the city blur into grays and muted greens, rain-slick streets reflecting neon like shattered glass. The world outside moved on, indifferent, while inside the car, everything had stopped.
She felt Ethan's tension, heavy as fog. His hand gripped the steering wheel too tightly, jaw twitching with each turn. She wanted to reach across the console, remind him of all the nights they had dreamed of building a home, the villa he promised her when they were teenagers. She wanted to believe that even without children, their love could endure.
But the silence told her otherwise.
At the apartment, Ethan opened the door without a word. He didn't wait for her, loosening his tie as he walked straight to the kitchen to pour himself a drink. Emma followed slowly, each step echoing in the hollow space between them.
Finally, he spoke, low and edged with frustration. "I can't do this, Emma."
She froze. "Can't do what?"
He turned to face her, eyes darker than she remembered. "I can't live like this. You heard the doctor—we have no future, not the kind I want. I want children. I need them. And you…" His voice faltered, then hardened. "You can't give me that."
The air between them grew thick with unspoken despair, and Emma realized that silence could sometimes scream louder than words.