His answer was curt. He walked straight to the bathroom without another word.
I stared at his retreating back, and something bitter twisted in my chest.
This was a man with severe mysophobia. There was a time when a slightly stronger scent from my aromatherapy diffuser was enough to make him frown.
Now, he could tolerate another woman's perfume and cigarette smoke clinging to him for hours.
So it was never about principles being unbreakable.
Late that night, he wrapped his arms around me from behind.
A familiar touch. Yet it felt like a stranger's.
His hand slid over my lower abdomen, his breath warm against the shell of my ear.
Everything was the same as it had always been.
But I knew something between us had changed.
I gently pushed him away.
"I'm not feeling well today."
He paused for a moment, then rolled over and lay flat on his back. Within minutes, his breathing evened out into the steady rhythm of sleep.
In the darkness, I lay with my eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
So this was what we'd become. Too fragile for even a single follow-up question.
The lid of that thermos had been scalding hot.
The photo in Raymond's album burned hotter.
Hot enough to twist my entire heart into a knot, so tight I couldn't breathe.
The next morning, Raymond got up early.
I lay in bed pretending to sleep, listening to him wash up, change, and leave. He didn't make a single unnecessary sound. He didn't try to wake me.
There was a transparent wall between us. We could both see through it, but neither of us wanted to touch it.
When I finally got up, breakfast was waiting on the dining table. A sandwich. A glass of milk. Every calorie accounted for.
Everything he did for me was meticulous, planned down to the last detail.
Today was our engagement anniversary.
We'd made plans to visit the equestrian club on the outskirts of the city, the place where we'd had our very first date.
I arrived early and waited in the lounge.
"Miss Pruitt, Mr. James didn't come with you today?"
"Something came up at the office. He'll be here a little later."
I smiled as I said it.
I waited through the morning and into the afternoon.
I sent him a few messages. None of them got a reply. I called. No answer.
The sun sank lower in the sky. I sat on a bench, watching distant riders gallop across the fields, and felt nothing inside but emptiness.
I decided to stop waiting.
The moment I stood up, my phone rang.
It was Raymond.
"Sorry. An emergency meeting came up at the office. I couldn't get away."
His voice carried no trace of emotion.
"It's fine. Work comes first."
My own voice was so calm it surprised even me.
"I had my assistant drop your anniversary gift off at the house. I'll try to get home early tonight."
"Okay."
After I hung up, I didn't go home.
Instead, I rented the gentlest horse at the club and wandered aimlessly across the grass.
I remembered the first time we came here.
He'd stood behind me, his hands over mine, teaching me how to hold the reins, how to guide the horse.
He'd said, "Don't be afraid. I'm right here."
That was the first time I ever felt safe with him.
Now, that sense of safety was slipping away, piece by piece.
When I got home, a beautifully wrapped gift box sat in the living room, just as promised.
I opened it. A diamond necklace.
Expensive. But the same design as the one he'd given me last year.
He didn't even remember what he'd already given me.
I placed the necklace back in the box and turned on the TV, flipping to some random variety show.
On the enormous screen, celebrities mugged and joked. I couldn't muster even the ghost of a smile.
At ten o'clock, Raymond came home and went straight to his study.
I turned off the TV, walked upstairs, and pushed open the study door.
