David had always prided himself on knowing his wife better than anyone. Becca was an open book—or at least, she used to be. Lately, though, something had shifted. It wasn’t just the small, almost imperceptible changes in her routine. It was the way she carried herself now, guarded and distant, like she was holding onto something she didn’t want him to see.

At first, David dismissed it as stress. Becca had been juggling a lot lately—work, the household, and the never-ending demands of life. But as the weeks dragged on, the small changes became harder to ignore. She had changed the password on her phone, a detail that shouldn’t have bothered him, but did. When he’d asked about it casually one evening, her response had been quick, almost defensive.

“It’s nothing,” she had said, brushing him off with a forced smile. “Just needed to update it. You know how these things are.”

But David didn’t know. Becca had always shared everything with him—her passwords, her worries, her joys. Now, it felt like she was keeping him at arm’s length. Conversations that had once flowed easily were now stilted, and when he asked even the simplest of questions, her answers came with a delay, as if she were carefully choosing her words.

At night, he found himself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying their interactions in his mind. Was he imagining it? Or was there something real, something tangible, lurking beneath her evasiveness? The thought gnawed at him, a quiet but persistent ache that refused to let him rest.