The evening passed in a blur of routine, dinner and dishes, homework and bedtime stories. Yet, beneath the surface, the tension simmered, unspoken but palpable. As night fell, I found myself alone in the living room, the glow of the television casting flickering shadows on the walls.
I picked up my phone, scrolling through call logs and messages. Each tap of the screen a step closer to understanding. My fingers paused over an unknown number that appeared frequently, a silent visitor in our digital life. I dialed it, my heart thudding in my chest, but it went straight to voicemail.
“Hi, you’ve reached Alex. Leave a message,” said the voice, familiar yet distant. I hung up without saying anything, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
My spouse appeared in the doorway, a silhouette against the light. “Everything okay?” they asked, their voice laced with concern.
“Just checking something,” I replied, setting the phone down with a deliberate calmness. “I called Alex’s number by mistake. It went to voicemail.”
There was a pause, a heartbeat of silence before they responded. “Oh, I see. Must be busy, I guess.”
“I guess,” I echoed, my eyes meeting theirs across the room. There was an unspoken challenge there, a test of wills.
They turned away, the moment passing like a shadow, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more. The night stretched before me, a canvas of possibilities and uncertainties.
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