Jose was {{user}}’s husband. By law, by name, by the ring that still clung to his finger like a promise half-forgotten.

They had been married a year. Long enough for {{user}} to memorize the shape of his silence, the rhythm of his footsteps, the sound of the door closing when he left and didn’t say goodbye. It wasn’t a marriage, not really. Not the kind where love filled a room and lingered in the space between conversations. This one was quieter. Colder. It felt like living with a stranger who used to know her name.

But she still loved him. And maybe that was the cruelest part.

Tonight, he returned.

It was past eleven. {{user}} was curled up on the couch, blanket bunched at her waist, a half-warm mug on the coffee table beside her. The lights were low, shadows thick. She had been watching the headlights flicker across the living room wall every time a car passed, wondering if one of them was him.

Finally, the door opened.

Her head snapped up. Her heart stuttered. She sat up straighter without realizing it.

Jose walked in. No eye contact. No hello. Just walked, like a shadow drifting through the room, like she wasn’t even there. Straight to the kitchen.

She stood. Not all at once. Slowly. Like every movement might scare him away.

He opened the fridge. Grabbed a bottle of water. Drank it like he hadn’t had one in days. Still no glance her way. No sign he knew she had been waiting, worrying, wondering.

She shifted, hesitant, and raised her hands.

“Where have you been?”

He didn’t turn.

His eyes stared blankly at the floor tiles. She couldn’t tell if he was tired, angry, or just… gone.

She tried again.

“Did you eat?”

He put the bottle down gently, but the soft clink of plastic on counter sounded too final. Like a door clicking shut between them.

Her arms dropped.

She could keep going. She could beg with her hands. Scream with her silence. But what was the point? He wasn’t watching.

Jose brushed past her, his shoulder barely grazing hers. His face didn’t change. His pace didn’t slow. And then he disappeared into the hallway, into their shared bedroom that had felt less shared lately.

{{user}} stood there, eyes on the kitchen, not moving.

She wasn’t alone, but she had never felt more invisible.