Dana Monroe's POV
I was standing in front of the sink as I rinsed the last of the lettuce leaves for the salad. The kitchen was filled with the smell of roasted chicken, garlic bread, and mashed potatoes. It was the kind of dinner I had learned to prepare because my husband was a man who liked simple American meals. I wiped my hands on the apron and checked the table again. Every plate was in its place, and the glasses were lined neatly.
My reflection was visible in the glass of the cabinet door, and I paused when I caught sight of myself. My face was still beautiful. My skin was clear, my lips were soft, and my dark eyes were framed by long lashes. Men had stared at me often when I was younger, and I remembered how many of them wanted my attention. My figure was still the same, with a full chest, a narrow waist, and curves that stood out no matter what I wore.
Sometimes I asked myself if my husband even noticed these things. I was wondering if Cali still had any real feelings for me, or if I was only a woman who kept his house in order.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway was what brought me out of my thoughts. I untied the apron quickly and fixed the neckline of my blouse. My fingers brushed through my hair until it fell neatly around my shoulders, and I walked toward the door.
Cali stepped inside with his briefcase in his hand. His shirt was wrinkled, his tie was loose, and his face was showing how tired he was after the day.
"You're home," I said with a small smile. I leaned forward and kissed his cheek, searching his eyes for any warmth.
"Yeah," Cali answered in a flat voice. He set down the briefcase on the chair and walked straight toward the dining table.
"I made dinner," I said quickly while following him. I lifted the serving spoon and placed food on his plate. "Roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and corn. Everything is fresh."
"Thanks," Cali said as he picked up his fork. His tone was even, and he didn't look up at me. He began to eat slowly.
I sat across from him, folding my hands on the table for a moment before asking, "How was work today?" My voice carried hope that he might say more than a few words.
"Busy," Cali replied while chewing. He shrugged lightly. "Same as always."
I nodded, forcing a small smile as I reached for the pitcher. I filled his glass with water and said, "You must be tired. Maybe the food will help."
"It's fine," he said as he took a sip. His eyes stayed fixed on the plate.
I leaned forward as I reached for the basket of bread. My blouse pulled against my chest as I moved, and I waited for his eyes to lift. My heart was beating quickly, but he kept eating as if nothing were different.
I pressed my lips together, then asked carefully, "Do you ever feel like we don't talk anymore?"
Cali looked up finally. His brows pulled together as he set the fork down. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice slightly tense.
"I mean…" My fingers twisted against the edge of my napkin, but I forced myself to go on. "You come home, you eat, you sit in front of the television, and then you go to bed. Sometimes I feel like I'm living here alone."
"I work all day," Cali said, his jaw tightening. "When I get home, I just want peace. That's all."
"And me?" I asked in a low voice, searching his face. "Don't you miss me at all?"
Cali pressed his lips together and looked at me steadily. "You think too much. We're fine," he said.
I stared at him while my chest tightened. I wanted to believe him, but the distance between us was clear. I gave a small nod and forced a smile as I said, "Eat more chicken. I'll get you some."
I stood, carried the platter, and placed more slices of meat on his plate. He didn't argue. He just kept eating.
The rest of the meal was quiet. I moved slowly as I cleared the dishes, while Cali leaned back in his chair for a moment before leaving for the living room. I washed the plates at the sink, my eyes drifting toward him. He was sitting on the couch with the television on; his face was blank, the flicker of the screen reflecting in his eyes.
When the last dish was dry, I went into the bedroom. I changed into a light gown that shaped my body and showed the fullness of my chest. I brushed my hair until it was smooth and let it fall over my shoulders. I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting. My hands rested on my lap, but I kept glancing at the door, listening to the muffled sound of the television.
When Cali came in at last, I smiled and said, "You should rest here. It's more comfortable than the couch." My voice carried a softness I hoped he would notice.
He nodded and sat down on the bed. I reached for his hand and held it lightly. "I missed you today," I said.
I leaned closer and kissed his jaw. My chest pressed against him as I moved near, and my eyes searched his for a reaction.
Cali pulled back slightly and sighed. "I'm tired. Let's sleep," he said.
I froze, my hand still on his arm. I lowered it slowly and nodded. "Alright," I said with a faint smile.
He lay on his side and closed his eyes, his back turned toward me. I stayed sitting for a while, staring at him. I finally lay down next to him, but my eyes stayed open.
I was remembering my college years, when men wanted my attention. They stared at my face, at my body, and at my breasts, and I knew that I could have chosen any of them. I had saved myself, believing that marriage would give me the love and desire I longed for. Now I was wondering if I had made a mistake.
I was wondering if Cali still cared about me the way he used to.
Cali's breathing was steady beside me. I turned my face toward the ceiling. My chest was heavy, but I held it in. I closed my eyes with the hope that one day he would look at me again, not only as his wife but as the woman he once desired.