I tossed on the bed, the sheets tangled around my legs like a lover refusing to let go. But there was no lover today. Just me. Alone. Again. Ethan wasn't home.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand, fingers fumbling in the dark. The screen lit up my face, and I blinked at the time: 6:30 AM. It's morning and my husband was not home yet! My heart started beating a little faster. Did he sleep out again?
I unlocked the phone quickly, hoping for a message, a missed call, or even a voicemail…something. But my notification bar was as empty as our bed. No missed calls. No text. No explanation. Just nothing.
A sigh left my lips as I dropped the phone on the bed. I stared at the ceiling, where shadows from the window danced in the soft morning light. I almost forgot to breathe. This wasn't the first time he had come home late or not at all. But it was the first time I felt like he didn't care that I noticed.
Lately, he has been so distant. He says work is overwhelming, that he is chasing a promotion and trying to secure a major deal. I want to believe him. God, I really want to believe that is what has been going on. But there is a tension in his voice that was not there before. A tiredness in his eyes that does not look like exhaustion. It looks like guilt.
He blames me now. For being too emotional. Too demanding. " I don't get peace anymore from you," he said last week when I asked why he didn't want to talk after dinner. "I come home to stress Tessa."
But I am trying. I am. I cook. I clean. I asked how his day was. I smile even when I feel like screaming. I've even stopped asking questions just to give him that peace that he claims he is missing.
Maybe I am just overthinking. Maybe work really is hell, and I am being needy. Maybe. A key turned on the front door. I shot up to the door, heart racing. A second later I see Ethan coming through the door. He walked in with his phone pressed to his ear, tie hanging loose around his neck, and blazer slung over one shoulder. He looked like he hadn't slept at all.
" Yeah," he mumbled into the phone, eyes locking with mine for a second before looking away and walking past me. " I just got home. "I'll call you later." He ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket.
"Morning," I said softly. He nodded." Morning."
That's it. No kisses. No "Sorry I didn't come home"
"Where were you?" I asked, forcing my voice to stay calm. He rubbed his temples. " Tessa, please. "I'm not in the mood for your interrogation." I blinked. "I just asked where you were." "That's not an interrogation." I had meetings. I crashed at a hotel afterward. It was late coming home."
I swallowed my pain. " You couldn't text to let me know?"
"I fell asleep."
Of course. Always the same excuse. Always the same script. I stepped aside as he brushed past me, already heading to the bedroom. I followed him in silence, watching as he peeled his shirt. My eyes caught something small, a faint maroon smudge near the collar.
Lipstick? No, it could be sauce. Wine. Something else. I stared for a second too long. " What?" he asked, catching me staring. " Nothing," I said quickly, turning away. He tossed the shirt into the laundry basket and moved toward the bathroom. " I need a shower."
I stood in the middle of the room, arms folded, heart racing in my chest. This wasn't us. This wasn't me. We used to be so in sync, laughing in the kitchen at midnight, making love like the world was ending, whispering secrets in the dark. Where did that version of us go? And how did I let myself vanish in the process?
After he closed the bathroom door, I stared at the laundry basket. My heart pounded as I walked over and picked up the shirt. The smudge was definitely lipstick. Not my shade. Not even close. I dropped it like it burned.
By noon, Ethan was asleep, claiming he was too tired to talk. Again. I stood in front of the mirror, looking at my reflection with new eyes. Maybe it was me. Maybe I had let myself go, stopped being the sexy woman he married, and became the' boring' wife. I pulled my robe open and stared at my body. I wasn't perfect, but I was far from undesirable. I was still me. The Tessa that he married. Soft curves, full lips, fire still burning under the surface. He just stopped seeing it. But I will remind him.
I dressed slowly, slipping into the new lingerie I'd bought a few weeks ago and never got the courage to wear. Black lace. Straps that hugged my thighs like secrets. I applied a touch of red lipstick, bold and unapologetic. I tiptoed back into the bedroom, heart thumping in my ears. He was still asleep.
I sat on the edge of the bed, brushing my fingers against his bare back. "Ethan…" He stirred.
"What is it?"