Chapter 7: Numb

That night, I didn’t bother waiting up for Rachel. She could come home whenever she wanted—or not at all. The old habit of counting hours, checking the driveway, was gone. The house felt bigger, emptier, like the silence was swallowing me up.

A wife like this, a home like this—my heart was already worn out, the edges of our marriage frayed beyond repair.

We kept living like this, two ghosts haunting the same house, tiptoeing around each other in the twilight.

Saturday morning, Rachel spent hours in the bathroom, the scent of her foundation drifting down the hall, curling her hair and perfecting her eyeliner. She announced she was meeting her girlfriends for lunch and a little shopping.

I didn’t ask. I checked the time, tossed on a clean shirt, and grabbed my keys to head out, too.

She spotted me lacing up my sneakers by the door. “You’re going out too?”

“Yeah. Meeting a friend for lunch.”

She paused, lipstick halfway to her lips, tone casual but eyes sharp. The click of her lipstick tube sounded like a gun cocking. “Which friend? Anyone I know?”

I zipped up my jacket, steady. “Emily. You’ve met her.”

Rachel’s hand froze mid-air, color draining from her face. “What?”