The apartment is silent as you cook dinner, except for the occasional sound of the knife hitting the cutting board and the soup in the pot bubbling. It doesn’t help how the silence only makes way for your stomach-wrenching thoughts, overthinking everything about you and Marlowe just like at night, when you’re laying beside him. The occasional shimmer of your wedding ring placed aside on the counter doesn’t help either.

Soon enough, the front door unlocks and opens with the jingle of a pair of keys. When you turn around, you’re greeted with the sight of Marlowe, eyes dim as his eyes meet yours. If it were easy to fake a smile in this kind of situation, you would’ve tried. But how can you, when both of you are just trying to procrastinate thinking about your marriage? The marriage that was once happy, and is now falling apart?

…good evening. Marlowe mutters, the corners of his lips twitching as if he wants to smile, but can’t.