Seraphina tries to steady her breathing.
“They were exhausted,” she replies.
“It’s been a while since we’ve had such a nice Sunday, Phina,” he adds affectionately, and the words break her heart. “I’ve missed you this week.”
Elliot’s hands move a few inches higher along her waist, searching for closeness, affection, connection.
Nothing aggressive.
Nothing demanding.
But her body betrays her before she can decide how to respond.
Elliot notices immediately.
He has always been too good at reading her.
“I’m exhausted, Elliot. Really. Between the barbecue, the neighbors, and everything at the clinic... my head is spinning.”
He remains still behind her for a few seconds.
Then he slowly lets go.
The silence that follows is thick and painful.
When Seraphina raises her eyes to the mirror, she finds him watching her from several steps away.
Elliot’s expression has changed.
He no longer looks relaxed.
He looks hurt.
And that realization sends a brutal wave of guilt through her.
“Your head doesn’t hurt,” he says quietly, without anger. “It’s much worse than that. You’ve been like this for months.”
She looks away toward the sink.
“I’m just tired.”
“No,” Elliot replies. “You’re distant.”
The words tighten Seraphina’s throat.
“That’s not fair,” she protests weakly.
“No?” He moves a little closer, though he keeps a respectful distance, as if afraid of pressuring her. “You’re here. You have dinner with me, you take the kids to school—we talk about budgets and vacations... but you’re not really present. It’s like there’s a glass wall between us, and I’m stuck on the other side.”
Seraphina’s chest aches.
She can’t deny it.
Elliot is right.
“I feel like I’m losing you,” he continues, devastation carefully contained in every word. “And I don’t even know what’s pulling you away from me.”
Seraphina stares at her own hands, unable to meet his gaze.
