Dinner was quiet.
The clinking of cutlery and the low hum of the refrigerator filled the space where words should have been.
Days had passed with them not speaking to each other. The house became even more quiet and strange. They both lived like strangers and the life they both knew was slipping away from their grasp.
Xander had cooked— simple pasta, a glass of wine each. He’d even smiled when Ava thanked him for the meal, that familiar smile that used to mean something.
Now, it only made her anxious.
“So,” he said lightly, twirling his fork, “how was work today?”
“Fine,” Ava replied, eyes on her plate. “A bit of a rush, but… fine.”
He nodded. “Still working on the new campaign?”
“Mhm.”
A beat of silence. Then he said, softer, “You’re doing really well, Ava. I know I haven’t been
