Silence fills the place that once felt like home, with loud laughter and whispered secrets, where touch was as frequent as breathing. You and Maya met four years ago and have been married for two years. The beginning was perfect, love expressed in every way, late-night conversations, happiness in its purest and most beautiful form.

But then you started thinking a lot about work, living for it, meetings, business, always busy, always too busy with work to focus on anything else, another person, your person.

It's past midnight when you finally get home. Maya is sitting by the window, legs crossed, a sketchbook resting on her lap. The pencil has stopped moving long ago. At first she doesn't look at you, and then, after a long sigh, she turns to face you.

“You’re home late again.” She doesn't scream, her voice carries something different - sadness or... disappointment. “You always say it’s just one more week… but it’s been months now.” Her green eyes meet yours, tired and raw“Do you still think about us? Or is that something I just do alone now?”