Echoes of Broken Vows

I tossed on the bed, the sheets tangled around my legs like a lover refusing to let go. But there was no lover today. Just me. Alone. Again. Ethan wasn't home. I reached for my phone on the nightstand, fingers fumbling in the dark. The screen lit up my face and I blinked at the time 6:30 AM. It's morning and my husband was not home yet! My heart started beating a little faster. Did he sleep out again? I unlocked the phone quickly, hoping for a message, a missed call or even a voicemail…something. But my notification bar was as empty as our bed. No missed call. No text. No explanation. Just nothing. A sigh left my lips as I dropped the phone on the bed. I stared at the ceiling, where shadows from the window danced in the soft morning light. I almost forgot to breathe. This wasn't the first time he had come home late or not at all. But it was the first time I felt like he didn't care that I noticed. Lately he has been so distant. He says work is overwhelming, that he is chasing a promotion and trying to secure a major deal. I want to believe him. God, I really want to believe that is what has been going on. But there is a tension in his voice that was not there before. A tiredness in his eyes that does not look like exhaustion. It looks like guilt. He blames me now. For being too emotional. Too demanding. " I don't get peace anymore from you," he said last week when I asked why he didn't want to talk after dinner. "I come home to stress Tessa." But I am trying. I am. I cook. I clean. I ask how his day was. I smile even when I feel like screaming. I've even stopped asking questions just to give him that peace that he claims he is missing. Maybe I am just overthinking. Maybe work really is hell, and I am being needy. Maybe. A key turned on the front door. I shot up to the door, heart racing. A second later I see Ethan coming through the door. He walked in with his phone pressed to his ear, tie hanging loose around his neck, blazer slung over one shoulder. He looked like he hadn't slept at all. " Yeah" he mumbled into the phone, eyes locking with mine for a second before looking away and walking past me. " I just got home. "I'll call you later." He ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket. "Morning," I said softly. He nodded" morning." That's it. No kisses. No "sorry I didn't come home" "Where were you?" I asked, forcing my voice to stay calm. He rubbed his temples. " Tessa, please. "I'm not in the mood for your interrogation." I blinked. "I just asked where you were." "That's not an interrogation." I had meetings. I crashed at a hotel afterward. It was late coming home." I swallowed my pain. " You couldn't text to let me know?" "I fell asleep." Of course. Always the same excuse. Always the same script. I stepped aside as he brushed past me, already heading to the bedroom. I followed him in silence, watching as he peeled his shirt. My eyes caught something small, a faint maroon smudge near the collar. Lipstick? No, it could be sauce. Wine. Something else. I stared for a second too long. " What?" he asked, catching me staring. " Nothing," I said quickly, turning away. He tossed the shirt into the laundry basket and moved toward the bathroom. " I need a shower." I stood in the middle of the room, arms folded, heart racing in my chest. This wasn't us. This wasn't me. We used to be so in sync, laughing in the kitchen at midnight, making love like the world was ending, whispering secrets in the dark. Where did that version of us go? And how did I let myself vanish in the process? After he closed the bathroom door, I stared at the laundry basket. My heart pounded as I walked over and picked up the shirt. The smudge was definitely lipstick. Not my shade. Not even close. I dropped it like it burned. By noon, Ethan was asleep, claiming he was too tired to talk. Again. I stood infront of the mirror , looking at my reflection with new eyes. Maybe it was me. Maybe I had let myself go, stopped being the sexy woman he married and became the' boring' wife. I pulled my robe open, stared at my body. I wasn't perfect, but I was far from undesirable. I was still me. The Tessa that he married. Soft curves, full lips, fire still burning under the surface. He just stopped seeing it. But I will remind him. I dressed slowly, slipping into the new lingerie I'd bought a few weeks ago and never got the courage to wear. Black lace. Straps that hugged my thighs like secrets. I applied a touch of red lipstick, bold and unapologetic. I tiptoed back into the bedroom, heart thumping in my ears. He was still asleep. I sat on the edge of the bed , brushing my fingers against his bare back. "Ethan…" He stirred. "What is it?" "I thought maybe we could… You know, before lunch." He turned his head slightly, eyes half closed. "Tessa, not now. I'm exhausted." Disappointment slammed into me like a truck. I forced a smile. "Okay." I stood and left the room before he could see the way my eyes welled with tears. Later that night, I made his favorite dinner. Pasta with creamy sauce, roasted garlic chicken, a bottle of wine breathing on the counter. I even lit candles. He barely touched the food. "I'm not hungry" he said, staring at his phone. I forced a laugh. "You used to devour this." He didn't even look up. "Tastes different." Ouch! I didn't say a word. I just stood, took the plates to the kitchen and cleared the table like a damn housemaid. Something had changed. Ethan was slipping through my fingers and I didn't know how to act or even how to stop it. I didn't know if I wanted to. And yet, a voice inside me whispered : Don't ask. Don't confront him. Watch. Listen. Be quiet. I had played the sweet wife long enough. But maybe it was time I started playing a different role, one that didn't involve begging for scraps of affection. Because I deserved more. I deserved the truth. Even if I had to bleed for it. That night I climbed into bed hoping, just hoping that maybe he would reach for me. That maybe the cold shell of a man who had walked through the door wasn't all that was left of my Ethan. He slid under the covers beside me, phone in hand, fingers scrolling, face dimly lit by the screen's glow. I waited until he set it on the nightstand before I turned to him. "Goodnight" I whispered, leaning in for a kiss. He pressed a dry peck against my lips, nothing more than skin touching skin and rolled away without a word. Just like that. I stared at the ceiling, my lips still tingling with rejection, my throat tightening and my heart heavy. My chest rose with a breath I didn't release until tears slipped silently onto the pillow. He used to kiss me like it was his religion. Now he barely looked at me. I turned to my side and pulled the blanket over my shoulder, the warmth of it no match for the cold spreading through my body. My heart broke in the dark, quietly. Again. The morning light spilled across the room, golden and soft, but everything in me felt heavy and gray. I heard the shower running. Without thinking, I slipped out of bed and padded towards the bathroom. We used to get ready together, brushing our teeth side by side, laughing through the fogged-up mirror, sharing space like it was sacred. It was our thing. I stepped in and closed the door behind me. Steam curled through the air. Ethan stood under the water, eyes closed, hands running through his wet hair. Attractive as ever. I reached for the edge of his back, fingers brushing gently over his skin. He flinched and pulled away. I tried again "Ethan..." " Don't" he muttered, not turning around. My voice trembled. " Talk to me. "What's wrong? "Why are you like this?" He turned then, eyes cold, jaw clenched. "You want to know what's wrong?" "Yes" I whispered desperately. In a flash, he grabbed my wrist, yanking me forward. I gasped as he pinned me against the cold tiled wall. "The problem is you" he said as he shoved inside me hard. "Is this what you want, huh?" He growled, his breath hot against my ear. "To be touched? "To feel something?" My mouth parted to speak but no sound came. He was ruthless. My back hit the wall with each thrust, the pain sharp, the force overwhelming. I gripped his shoulders, confused, dazed, trying to understand what was happening. This wasn't making love. This was punishment. I turned my head slightly and caught my reflection in the fogged mirror, hair stuck to my face, mouth trembling and eyes wide with tears. That wasn't me. And the man holding me down? That wasn't my husband. Ethan had always been gentle. Playful. Passionate. He used to worship every inch of my body like I was sacred. This man was a stranger. Cold. Angry. Violent. He finished with a grunt, breathing hard like an animal, hands still gripping my hips. He didn't kiss me. Didn't look me in the eye. He just stepped back, turned off the shower and walked out without a word. I slid down the wall slowly, letting the water rinse his presence off my skin, but nothing could wash away the ache inside. Something had broken. And I wasn't sure it could be fixed.