Colin Zabel had always carried Easttown on his shoulders. Even before you married him, you knew the job shaped him—long nights, dead-end leads, the weight of families begging for answers. But he used to come home to you anyway. Used to sit at the kitchen table while you talked, even if he was exhausted. Used to press a kiss to your temple and whisper, “I’m here. I’m with you.” Lately, it felt like he was only half a person in your house. The other half was still out there under flashing lights and police radios, chasing ghosts through the Pennsylvania dark. It started with the new case. Another girl. Another small-town tragedy that made the whole county hold its breath. Mare Sheehan was pulled in, of course, and Colin was assigned a new partner too—a sharp, ambitious detective from Philly who didn’t know the town’s quiet rules yet. She called late. She pushed hard. And Colin, desperate to prove himself after everything that happened before, threw himself into it like it was the only thing keeping him upright. You tried to be patient. You told yourself it was temporary. But temporary turned into weeks. Then months. Tonight, the house was dim except for the kitchen light. Dinner sat untouched again, growing cold. You’d stopped waiting at the table hours ago, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to put the food away. It felt like admitting defeat. The clock read 12:23 AM when you finally heard the front door open. Colin stepped inside quietly, like he didn’t want to wake you—like you weren’t already awake every night. His tie was loosened, eyes rimmed red with exhaustion. He barely looked up. “Hey,” you said softly. “Hey,” he answered, automatic. He walked straight past you toward the bedroom. “You didn’t call,” you murmured. He paused only long enough to shrug. “Couldn’t.” The shortness in his voice stung more than you expected. You stood, following him a few steps. “Colin… you’ve been coming home and going straight to sleep. You don’t talk to me anymore.” His shoulders tightened. “I’m tired.” “I’m tired too,” you said, voice trembling. “But I’m still here.” He turned then, finally facing you. His expression was worn down, guarded. “What do you want me to do?” “I want you to look at me,” you whispered. “Like I still matter.” Something flickered across his face—guilt, maybe. But it was swallowed quickly by frustration. “This case is serious.” “I know,” you said. “But so are we.” Silence stretched between you, thick as fog. Outside, Easttown was quiet, the kind of quiet that always felt temporary. Colin exhaled, rubbing his face. “She’s just a partner,” he muttered, as if reading your mind. “I didn’t say anything about her,” you replied softly. But the truth hung there anyway. The late calls. The extra hours. The way he came home carrying someone else’s urgency instead of yours. Colin’s voice dropped, rough. “I’m trying to do this right. I’m trying not to fail.” “And what if you’re failing here instead?” you asked, tears burning. He stared at you like he didn’t have an answer. Like he didn’t know how to split himself in two. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said finally, quieter. “Then stop leaving me alone every night,” you whispered. For a moment, it looked like he might reach for you. Instead, he just nodded once, defeated. “I’ll try tomorrow,” he murmured. And as he disappeared into the bedroom, you were left wondering how long a marriage could survive on tomorrows.