Max didn’t come to bed.
Elena knew before she even checked. There was a specific quiet that settled into the house when Max chose distance—not absence, not anger, but deliberate withdrawal. Doors weren’t slammed. Voices weren’t raised. He simply removed himself from the shared space as if proximity itself had become a liability.
She lay awake on her side of the bed, staring at the dark ceiling, listening to the low hum of the house systems cycling on and off. Every sound felt amplified. Every second stretched thin.
Sometime after midnight, she heard footsteps down the hall.
Not toward the bedroom.
Toward the study.
That confirmed it.
Max was thinking.
And when Max thought, decisions followed.
She rolled onto her back, pressing her palm to her chest as if she could physically stead
