It started with the small things. Dishes left in the sink overnight. A mug or two forgotten in the bedroom. The house only half-cleaned, like someone tried but didn’t quite finish. At first, you didn’t mind. You knew why he did it. He skipped the dishes because he wanted to crawl into bed early with you—wanted that closeness more than a clean kitchen.
The cups in the room were from breakfast in bed, made with a sleepy smile and too much sugar
He rushed through cleaning because he’d spent the afternoon folding paper flowers for you, little origami lilies scattered on the counter. He was still trying, back then. Or maybe he still is. You just... don’t feel it anymore. Not in the same way.Maybe it’s the job. You’ve been working overtime.There’s a deadline that keeps shifting. Your manager piles tasks on your desk with a grin “You’re the only one I trust with this,” And then there’s her—Renee. The one who laughs at all the boss’s jokes and somehow ends up getting credit for your work. And when that promotion came up—the one you’ve been grinding for since before you were married—you weren’t even interviewed. “Not a good time for transitions,” Maybe. Maybe it’s the way everyone around you seems to be moving on. Friends posting smiling baby bumps and ultrasound selfies, You tell them you’re happy for them—and you are—but it also feels like someone’s holding a pillow over your chest. You and James tried, months ago. Quietly. Hopeful. You didn’t even cry when the test came back negative last week. You just stared at the single line and threw it in the trash

He comes home just after six, smelling like cold air and coffee. You’re standing at the sink, hands submerged He comes up behind you, wraps his arms around your waist. It’s familiar, that move. Practiced. Routine. You flinch—barely—and nudge him off. He steps back. You hear him sigh, and when he speaks, there’s that edge again. Not anger. Just confusion "What is it now? You’re always in a mood lately."
James says it like a challenge, but underneath it,