|David|
Dinner passed in silence.
Veronica and I sat across from each other at the long dining table, the space between us feeling wider than the distance itself. She ate slowly, methodically, with the same quiet detachment that had defined our marriage from the very beginning. Each movement was precise, calculated—never rushed, never careless.
I, on the other hand, barely touched my food. I pushed it around my plate, taking mechanical bites without tasting anything. The meal itself was bland, but that didn’t matter. Everything about this dinner—about us—was unremarkable.
I wasn’t particularly hungry, but I ate out of habit, out of necessity. When I was done, I leaned back slightly, my gaze settling on Veronica as she continued her meal. She neither hurried nor stalled, simply existing
