He comes home later than he said he would.
Not late enough to be suspicious. Just late enough to feel deliberate.
I hear the door before I see him. The familiar sound of keys. Shoes set neatly aside. Control, even in exhaustion. I stay where I am. On the couch. Knees tucked in. Phone face down like it hasn’t been burning holes into my attention all evening.
He loosens his tie as he walks in. Doesn’t look at me right away.
“Hey,” he says, eventually.
“Hey.”
Two soft words. Too much space between them.
He sits beside me. Not touching. Close enough that our shoulders almost meet. Almost. I feel the absence like a phantom limb.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod too fast. Then slow myself down and nod again. “Yeah. Just tired.”
That’s not a lie. It’s just not the whole truth.
He studies me
