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And then there was the photograph.
He did not remember bringing it into their room.
Yet one morning, it sat on the table beside his bed.
The same image. The same moment.
Him, seated.
Her, standing.
Unmoving.
Unsmiling.
At first glance, nothing had changed.
But when he looked closer—
His breath caught.
His own face seemed… thinner. Not physically, but in presence. As though the weight of him had been reduced, pressed flatter into the image.
And her—
She was different.
Not dramatically. Not enough that anyone unfamiliar would notice.
But he did.
There was life in her expression now.
A softness. A brightness.
And just at the edge of her lips—
The beginning of a smile.
That night, he did not sleep.
He waited.
Hours stretched, silent and suffocating.
Then, sometime deep in the darkness, she spoke.
“You see it now.”
Her voice came from the shadows, calm and certain.
“What is happening to me?” he asked.
No anger.