We continue eating. Conversation fades. The only sounds left are the quiet clinking of dishes and the hum of the refrigerator. Eventually the food is finished. Dominic clears the table while I rinse the plates. Later we move to the couch, the soft glow of the television filling the living room while some random movie plays in the background.
Neither of us really watches it and by the time we head upstairs, the house is quiet again. Dominic falls asleep quickly beside me. But I lie there staring at the ceiling. My mind replaying every word he said tonight.
Every pause. Every nervous gesture. And somewhere deep in my chest, that same heavy feeling settles back in.
Like something is wrong.
Very wrong.
But I still don’t know what it is.
***
I wake up before the sun. 5:02 a.m. The room is still dark, the quiet of the early morning wrapped around the house. I stare at the ceiling for a few seconds, hoping sleep might come back but It doesn’t. Beside me, Dominic sleeps peacefully, one arm stretched across the bed like nothing in the world is wrong. I carefully slip out from under the blanket, trying not to wake him.
Pulling on a sweater and a pair of leggings, I quietly make my way downstairs and step outside. A cool breeze drifts through the air. That early morning kind of cold that feels clean and sharp against the skin. The sky is still a pale gray-blue, the sun barely beginning to push through the horizon. The neighborhood is quiet.
I take a deep breath, hoping the fresh air will clear my mind but It doesn’t. That’s when I notice someone across the street. Mrs. Alden. She’s outside her house, struggling slightly as she drags a trash bag toward the bin at the curb.
“Morning,” I say as I step closer.
She turns, surprised to see me.
“Oh, Era,” she says. “Hello, dear.” She glances at the sky. “It’s awfully early.”
I shrug slightly.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Mrs. Alden nods knowingly.
“Getting an early start to the day?”
“Something like that.”
She tosses the trash bag into the bin and dusts off her hands.
Then she looks at me for a moment.
Her expression softens.
“Oh sweetheart,” she says quietly. “I’m so sorry about the situation.”
I frown slightly.
“What situation?”
She sighs gently.
“If anyone knows how you feel, it’s me,” she says. “My husband did the same thing.” She pauses, glancing down at the pavement. “He uh—” She stops herself. “Anyway,” she says quickly. “I’m here if you ever need to talk—”
“You knew?”
The words come out sharper than I expected.
Mrs. Alden looks startled.
“Well—”