The days were beginning to blur. Each one was a painful echo of the one before, quiet, distant, hollow. Ethan came home late, barely spoke, barely touched his food, and barely looked at me. I had stopped asking what was wrong. I had stopped trying to pretend. Instead, I filled my hours with distractions. Anything to keep my mind from spiraling. I scrolled endlessly through social media, watching strangers live the lives I used to dream of. Happy couples kissing in the sunlight, romantic getaways, surprise date nights, anniversary celebrations… All the things we used to do. All the things we used to be. My heart felt like it was being shredded slowly. Paper cuts to the soul. Small, silent aches that bled deep and destroyed me.
I prayed. God knows I did. I knelt on our bedroom floor one morning, desperate and ugly crying, whispering his name to the ceiling like it would matter. "Please" I begged. "Please God, bring him back to me." "Whatever I did, whatever I am doing wrong, fix it and fix me." But no divine revelation came. No miracle. Just the sound of silence echoing back, hollow and cruel.
Yesterday was supposed to be our half-year anniversary. We always celebrated both, the big one in December and our "six-month refresh" in June. Ethan used to say we needed two chances every year to remember why we chose each other. He would always bring me red roses, my favorite. We would go out for dinner. He would write something stupid on a card that made me laugh and cry at the same time.
So I dressed up. I put on the little black dress that he once said made him forget how to speak. The one that hugged my curves and made me feel like an art in motion. I did my makeup carefully, dabbed on his favorite perfume, and even curled my hair like I used to when we were newlyweds.
When he walked through the door, I met him with a hopeful smile. "Happy six months," I said softly. He blinked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. "What?" "Our half anniversary." "Oh." He sighed, slipping off his shoes. "Tessa, I've had a really long day. I don't feel like going out."
I stood there in that dress, swallowing the lump forming in my throat.
"We don't have to go anywhere. I will make dinner."
"I am just tired, I will eat later," he muttered.
I watched him drop onto the couch, phone in hand, his face glowing from the screen's light. I set the table alone. Again. I plated the grilled salmon and roasted potatoes he used to love. Pour the wine. Lit a single candle, still trying to hold onto a shred of what we used to be. He joined me ten minutes later, barely touching the food and scrolling on his phone the entire time. Smiling even. At something. Or someone. Not me.
"Something funny?" I asked quietly, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
"Huh?"
"You smiled."
He shrugged, not even looking up. "Just a meme."
I watched him, trying to recognize this man seated across from me. Trying to find the Ethan I loved in the curve of his jaw, the way he held his fork, the sound of his breath. But he was gone. Something in him had shifted, something vital. I could feel it in the way he didn't look at me. Along the way, his body no longer reached for mine, even by accident. There was a distance now, cold and brutal like I was living with a ghost. When dinner ended, he didn't say thank you. Didn't kiss my cheek. He stood, cleared his plate, and went back to the couch. I stayed at the table, staring at my half-eaten meal. I couldn't cry anymore. I was past that...sat. Empty.
I eventually slipped away, removing the dress like it was made of shame. I folded it and placed it back in the closet, hoping that I would wear it again one day for someone who actually saw me. Then I went to bed. I did not say goodnight. Neither did he. I lay there staring at the ceiling, counting the seconds until sleep would finally come and give me mercy. But it never did. The light from the hallway spilled through the crack under the door, casting long shadows on the walls. He didn't come to bed. I got up quietly and opened the door. Ethan was on the couch, a blanket on his lap, phone still in hand, watching something on TV. He did not notice me. I stood there for a long moment, watching the man I used to love fall asleep to strangers on a screen, not the woman he married.
Something inside me shifted too. A click. A flicker. A small painful birth of something I didn't yet have a name for.
I went back to bed and curled into the empty space he used to fill. And that's when it hit me...