The agreement to "stop performing" was proving difficult, not because Alex was trying to engage, but because I couldn't bring myself to.
The spa day with Sofia had been therapeutic, confirming the depth of the pressure and the extent of the trauma his father had inflicted. The man I married wasn't cold; he was guarded to the point of extinction.
My knowledge now held pity, understanding, and a fierce, quiet protectiveness. But it also held hurt. He saw me as the safe option, the one who wouldn't ask for the vulnerable parts of him.
That dismissal, however logical in his corporate mind, stung deeply.
I returned from the spa late in the afternoon, feeling physically relaxed but emotionally frozen.
Alex was in the main living area with Miguel, both hunched over large architectural drawings spread across the coffee table.
They were deep in a discussion about a planned development in Dubai, their voices low and sharp with business strategy.
