A Quiet Fear That Would Not Leave
When you share a life with someone for years, you learn to read the small signs. The pause before an answer. The slight change in routine. The way someone looks at their phone a second too long.
I was not looking for trouble. I was not that kind of person. But something about the way Michael guarded the bed, combined with that persistent, troubling scent, planted a worry in me that I could not shake.
I started to wonder things I did not want to wonder.
Was he hiding something? Was there someone else? Was our marriage built on something I did not fully understand?
I never said any of this out loud. I kept it folded inside me, telling myself to wait, to trust, to give it time.
But the smell did not go away. And neither did the quiet fear.
