“No!” she snapped. Then she softened. “No, I’m not.”
He leaned forward, desperate.
“Then tell me why. Tell me what I did wrong.”
Kelly inhaled, deep and steady.
“That’s the problem, Zack,” she said quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You just… didn’t do anything at all.”
He frowned. “What does that even mean?”
“It means,” she said, “that for thirty years, I lived next to you — not with you.”
She reminded him of the nights she cried in the bathroom so he wouldn’t hear.
The birthdays where he asked what she wanted that morning.
The promotions she celebrated alone because he was “too tired.”
The silence at dinner.
The way he never asked how she was — only what was for dinner.
“You were faithful to our marriage,” she said. “But you were never present in it.”
