The morning of the meeting arrived, the air heavy with unspoken fears and the weight of what was to come. He left the house early, the tension palpable in the air he left behind.
As I went through my day, I felt the minutes crawl by, each one marked by the worry that sat heavy in my chest. I tried to distract myself with work, but my thoughts kept drifting back to him.
In the afternoon, a text: “Meeting over. Coming home.” Short, devoid of emotion, leaving me grasping at straws.
When he finally walked through the door that evening, his face was unreadable, a mask that gave nothing away.
“How did it go?” I asked, holding my breath for the answer.
He looked at me, the silence stretching between us, and then—
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered.
