Martin rubbed his eyes as he stepped into the kitchen, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only sound filling the room. The house was quiet—the kids had gone to bed, the usual chaos of the evening routine now settled into stillness. But as he crossed the threshold, he saw her. His wife.

She was standing by the sink, her back to him, wiping down the counter in slow, methodical circles. Again and again, over the same spot. The overhead light cast a pale glow on her skin, making her look almost translucent. Not tired, not sad—just absent.

For a moment, he thought about saying something. Hey, you don’t have to do that now. Or maybe, Come sit with me for a bit. But the words never left his mouth. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, watching her, waiting for some kind of indication that she was still there. Still real.

He cleared his throat, hoping it would push the words out, but it didn’t. His mouth felt dry. He thought about leaving her to it, but the silence felt heavier than usual.

Finally, he stepped into the room, his shoes making a soft scuff on the floor. He waited a moment, and when she didn’t acknowledge him, he tried again, his voice low and hesitant.

Hey… you don’t have do that right now.