"Is everything okay?" The words barely took shape, laced with worry. “Are we okay?”
In the space between heartbeats, Will's eyes flicked away. Guilt? Maybe. He set the spoon down and forced a casual shrug.
"Yes, everything is okay. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You’ve been… distant lately. You barely say anything to me.”
He shook his head, then got up and put his cup in the sink. “It's just work stuff. And speaking of, I should be going now if Iwant to make it to my morning meeting." He pecked her on the cheek, then left.
Her throat tightened. Lies didn't suit him. But she exhaled, smoothing out the creases on the linen tablecloth, choosing trust over suspicion… for now.
After Will left, Angela paced the kitchen. She paused at the window, peering out as if the answer might be etched in the frosty glass. The doorbell's chime cut through her reverie, and she hastened to welcome solace in human form.
"Mom," Angela exhaled as Diane stepped into the embrace of the coolness of the AC in the kitchen.
"Darling," Diane greeted, her presence an instant balm to the room's chill. "Sweet tea sounds perfect."
They settled at the table, silence stretching between them, laden with words unspoken. Diane poured the iced tea, then handed a glass to her with a deep sigh.
“What’s going on?” Diane asked, tilting her head. “I sense something is wrong with you. Is it the kids?”
"Mom," Angela began, voice barely above a whisper, "there's something… off with Will."
Diane offered a smile, the practiced curve of her lips contrasting the furrowed concern on Angela's brow. With a touch, light as a petal, she reached across the table, her fingers grazing Angela's hand.
"Every marriage dances through shadows, my dear," Diane soothed, her tone wrapping Angela in a shawl of maternal wisdom. "It's natural. Especially when you have children. They take up a lot of space and exhaust their parents. There really isn’t a lot of energy left once the day is over. It’ll get better when they’re older."
Angela felt the weight of her mother's gaze, heavy with years of unspoken understanding. Yet beneath it, an undercurrent of dismissal pulled at her, eroding the shores of her resolve. Herheart ached, a silent plea for recognition hovering in the air, unanswered.
Angela's hand clenched around her tea, the glass a fragile barrier against the rising tide of her worries.
"He's distant, Mom. It’s been going on for a while now.”
“It’s probably just work, honey,” her mom said. “Men get like that. Exactly how is he distant?”
“He forgot our anniversary, and he dismisses conversations about the kids," she said, the words tumbling out like runaway beads from a snapped necklace.
Diane's brows knit together briefly, her elegant posture shifting in the cushioned chair.
"Angela, love… I hardly think that qualifies as"
"His phone is always locked. And there are nights when he comes home late, reeking of someone else's perfume." Angela's voice cracked, the fear and determination mingling into a tremulous force. “I’m sure of it.”
A flicker of concern danced across Diane's features. She leaned forward, her eyes searching Angela's face as if looking for the daughter she once knew, who saw the world in softer hues.
"Sweetheart," Diane began with a note of caution, "are you certain you're not just… spinning tales?"
Tears pooled in Angela's eyes, blurring the kitchen into a watercolor smear. "Mom, please."
"Think of all Will's done for you. His work is demanding, and—" Diane's voice was a velvet cover, trying to smooth the creases in her daughter's narrative.
"Mom, it's not just stress. There are messages he hides from me!" Angela's plea scattered the veil of calm Diane tried to weave. “He will turn his phone away as I approach him or put it down suddenly.”
Diane reached out, her touch light on Angela's trembling hands, her own heart caught in the snare of maternal instinct.
"Darling, you know Will. He loves you."
"Does he?" Angela whispered, the question a splinter in her chest.
