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The Sound of Silence
The morning light seeped in through the kitchen window, casting a golden hue over the countertop. I could hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, each second echoing in the stillness. There was a scent of coffee brewing, earthy and warm, mingling with the buttery aroma of toast. I leaned against the doorframe, watching Evelyn move with a kind of graceful ease. She carried herself like she was in a dance, unaware of the way the sunlight caught the silver strands of her hair. But I wasn’t really seeing her, not in the way one is supposed to see their spouse.
I was twenty-five, a shadow of a man burdened with debt, and I had married her for the roof over my head. Not love. Stability. A few years of pretending to be a caring husband, and I thought I’d inherit a beautiful house in a peaceful neighborhood. I thought it was a fair trade. I didn’t think, not really, about Evelyn herself.
“You’re up early today,” she said, her voice soft, almost musical. I shrugged. My stomach twisted a little. I didn’t want to be rude, but I didn’t want to talk either. I was never very good at it. I didn’t want her to notice the way I looked at her sometimes, like she was a means to an end.
“You’ll freeze wearing that thing,” she said casually, noticing my old coat hanging loosely from my shoulders.
I had taken to wearing it, even in the warmest weather, because it reminded me of my life before her. Scrounging through dumpsters, sleeping in my truck behind a grocery store. I remembered the cold nights and the frost on the glass. I had been alone, but now there was warmth. A kitchen, a home. I didn’t have to think about those nights anymore.