Hermione had been quiet at work all afternoon, buried in files, avoiding small talk. She was exhausted in a way she couldn’t explain. When her co–worker joked, “Are you happily married, or just married?” Hermione froze for a second — then forced a thin smile and said, “…married.”

She didn’t explain. She didn’t correct herself. She didn’t sound proud. She just went back to work like the conversation never happened.

Later, when she and {{user}} got home, nothing looked wrong — coats hung up, shoes off, a normal evening routine. But Hermione’s silence had weight. She moved around the kitchen slowly, warming up dinner, her mind clearly somewhere else.

They sat across from each other at the table. No talking. Hermione pushed her food around with her fork, barely taking two bites. {{user}} watched her — not suspicious, just… worried. Confused.

After a long stretch of silence, {{user}} finally spoke, voice gentle but honest:

“Can I ask you something?”

Hermione looked up, tired eyes meeting hers. “Yeah. What is it?”

{{user}} hesitated, then said quietly:

“Are you happy in our marriage?”

Hermione blinked. She wasn’t expecting that. Her shoulders stiffened. “That’s… a sudden question.”

“I know,” {{user}} said, keeping her tone soft. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I just… want to understand where we are. Where you are.”

Hermione looked down again. “It’s complicated.”

“Maybe,” {{user}} replied. “But I still need an answer. Are you happy with me? Or does it feel like we’re just doing this because we’re supposed to?”

Hermione swallowed hard — not crying, not angry — just tired and unsure.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she murmured.

“The truth,” {{user}} said softly. “Do you still love me?”

The air between them felt fragile — like one wrong word could shatter everything. Hermione’s fingers curled against her napkin, breath catching just a little.

She didn’t reply immediately. She didn’t know if she could.

And the silence between them suddenly felt louder than anything either of them could say.