Albert was already in the house when I got home.
That alone unsettled me more than I cared to admit.
The house felt strangely still, like it was holding its breath. The television was on, but the sound was low, almost muted, as though it were only there to fill a silence neither of us wanted to acknowledge. Albert sat on the couch, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his thighs. His eyes were glued to his phone, scrolling, typing, pausing—then typing again with a focus so intense it made my chest tighten.
For a brief moment, I stood by the door and watched him.
He didn't notice me immediately.
When I finally stepped fully inside and closed the door behind me, the sound echoed louder than it should have. Albert looked up briefly, his eyes flicking to my face before dropping back to his phone. His fingers moved quickly, as though finishing something important. A few seconds later, he pressed send, locked the screen, and then looked at me properly.
"Babe, you're home early today," he said.
His voice was calm, casual—but there was something underneath it. Something guarded.
I nodded and walked toward the couch opposite him, lowering myself carefully as though any sudden movement might trigger something fragile between us. I exhaled sharply, not realizing how tense my body had been until that moment.
"You didn't tell me you'd be going out," Albert said, his tone flat.
I turned to look at him. "It wasn't planned, per se," I replied evenly. "I hung out with Kim. My best friend."
He shifted slightly, resting his back against the couch. "I didn't ask who you went out with," he said. "I asked why you left the house without saying a word about your whereabouts."
There it was.
The control disguised as concern.
I felt a flicker of surprise, but I forced my face to remain neutral. I crossed my legs slowly, grounding myself.
"Well," I said calmly, "like I mentioned earlier, it wasn't planned. And besides…" I paused, choosing my words carefully, "…I'm not a child, Albert. I don't need permission to step out."
His jaw tightened.
"The house has been suffocating for a while now," I continued. "I needed air. I needed space."
"Suffocating?" he repeated, letting out a short, humorless laugh. "So now the house suffocates you?"
He sat upright, gesturing animatedly. "You leave the house because you feel suffocated?"
"Yes," I answered without hesitation.
He stared at me for a moment, clearly not expecting that.
"And you went out with who again?" he pressed. "Kim? That unmarried friend of yours?"
The way he emphasized unmarried made my blood boil.
"And what exactly is wrong with being unmarried?" I snapped. "At least she's happy."
The words slipped out sharp and fast.
Albert froze.
For a moment, the room was unbearably quiet.
"Are you saying you're unhappy?" he asked slowly, his voice lower now.
"Yes, Albert," I replied, my voice steady despite the ache in my chest. "I've been unhappy for a long time."
He blinked, clearly caught off guard.
"This marriage has become something I never imagined," I continued. "You leave the house early and come back late. You barely explain where you've been. You don't have time for me anymore."
"That's not fair—" he began.
"When you're home," I interrupted, "you're never really here. You're always on your phone. Always typing. Always somewhere else."
He opened his mouth to respond, but at that exact moment, his phone chimed.
The sound sliced through the tension.
He stopped mid-sentence and glanced down at the screen.
I watched his face carefully—waiting for guilt, panic, hesitation—anything. But his expression remained carefully neutral.
"That," I said quietly, pointing at his phone, "is exactly what I'm talking about."
He sighed deeply and stood up. "Susan, I have responsibilities. My job—"
"I am your responsibility too," I said, my voice rising despite myself. "Or have you forgotten that?"
He grabbed his jacket and briefcase. "We'll talk about this later."
The dismissal hit me like a slap.
"There will be absolutely no need for that," I said firmly. "I'm done having this conversation."
I turned and walked into the bedroom before he could say another word.
Minutes later, the front door slammed.
Then the sound of his car engine starting.
Then silence.
I lay down on the bed and fell asleep instantly.
Kim's call woke me up.
"Hey," she said softly. "I just wanted to be sure you got home safely."
"I did," I replied. "I've been home for a while."
"Oh good," she said, exhaling in relief. "Sorry I took so long to check in. I had things to handle."
"It's okay, Kim. I'm fine."
"And Albert?" she asked carefully.
"He was home when I arrived," I said. "Questioning me. Trying to police my movements."
"And you?" she asked.
"I stood my ground."
"You're not a child, Susan," Kim said firmly. "You know what's right for you."
"Yes," I replied softly. "I do."
Over the next few weeks, Albert stayed home after work.
We didn't argue.
We didn't connect either.
He was physically present—but emotionally unreachable.
I, on the other hand, went out twice with Kim. I laughed more. I smiled genuinely. I felt lighter than I had in months.
That unsettled Albert.
Once, I caught him scrolling through my phone when he thought I wasn't looking.
I had already changed my password.
He didn't confront me. And I didn't confront him either—because he had done the same.
At first, I thought distance meant peace.
I was wrong.
Saturday morning came quietly.
I had just finished cleaning and was having breakfast with Albert when someone knocked on the door.
"Are you expecting anyone?" I asked.
"No," he replied quickly.
The knock came again—harder this time.
"I'll get it," I said, standing up.
When I opened the door, my breath caught in my throat.
June.
She stood there in a dress so skimpy it barely covered her thighs—tight, deliberate, shameless. Her makeup was flawless, her confidence unmistakable.
"Mrs. Peters," she said with a smile. "I'm here to see Albert."
I held the door firmly, blocking her entrance.
"You came to my house on a weekend," I said coldly. "Why?"
She tilted her head. "It's an emergency."
She glanced past me. "May I?"
Against my better judgment, I stepped aside.
She walked in like she owned the place—hips swaying, heels clicking, eyes already searching for my husband.
And in that moment, I knew—
Whatever illusion of calm I had built
was about to collapse.