Cracks in the Silence
400 Words
I thought I could keep the game hidden.
That the fire burning between us—the stolen glances, the unspoken promises, the tension that thickened every time we were in the same room—would stay invisible.
But I underestimated him.
My ex.
He wasn’t stupid. Weak, yes. Arrogant, definitely. But stupid? No.
It started small. The way his eyes narrowed whenever his father entered the room. The sudden silences, the sharp glances between us that lasted a little too long. I avoided them as best I could, brushing off his questions, but suspicion was already gnawing at him.
The breaking point came one evening.
I had gone back to collect the last of my things—the final box I’d left behind, stuffed with memories I no longer wanted. I thought he wouldn’t be home. But he was. And so was his father.
The tension hit like static when I walked in. My ex stood in the living room, pacing, his jaw tight. His father sat calmly in the armchair, legs crossed, a glass of whiskey in hand, watching me like I was the only person in the world.
I tried to keep my eyes on the box, not on him. But my ex caught it. He caught the flicker, the spark I couldn’t hide, and his face twisted.
“Why do you keep looking at him like that?” he snapped.
My heart stuttered. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb,” he spat, stepping closer, his voice dripping with accusation. “Every time he’s in the room, you change. You’re different. Don’t think I don’t notice.”
Before I could speak, his father’s voice cut through the air, low and lethal. “Careful, son.”
The room froze. My ex turned, stunned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
His father didn’t flinch. He only sipped his drink, his gaze never leaving me. “It means you should stop shouting at a woman you already destroyed once. She’s not yours to hurt anymore.”
My ex’s face went pale, then red, fury twisting his features. “What the f**k are you implying?”
I grabbed my box, clutching it to my chest, desperate to escape before the fire between them exploded. But inside, my blood ran hot with a terrifying truth—this wasn’t a game anymore.
It was war.
- Writer
