WAVERLY
The night had a certain chill to it, colder than a woman's silence, colder than a man's absence. I sat up in our bed, the sheets clutched to my chest, and the dim lamp light punctuating the solemnity of the room. The house breathed, groaned beneath the weight of silence. The door creaked open, and in the darkness, Ben's figure emerged.
"I've been waiting, Ben," I said, my voice shaky, yet bold in the hollow silence. He merely grunted, the metallic odor of alcohol wafting into the room. He crawled into bed, turned his back to me, a final act of dismissal. I remained, staring into the darkness, its infinity swallowing my pleas.
Days blended into one another, our words replaced with vacant smiles and quiet dinners. My attempts to address the issue were met with a silent brick wall
