47: Not My Wife
"Is there someone else, James? Is that where you've been?"
James stopped in the doorway, his back to her. For a moment, Emma thought she saw his shoulders tense, a flicker of something - guilt? regret? - cross his face. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths. But when he turned back to her, his expression was cold and impassive, a mask slipping seamlessly back into place.
"Good night, Emma," he said flatly, before disappearing into the bedroom and shutting the door firmly behind him.
The sound of the door closing echoed through the house, a finality to it that made Emma's heart sink. She stood in the living room, feeling more alone than ever. The silence of the house pressed in around her, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Each second that passed felt like an eternity, a reminder of how much time they'd wasted, how far they'd drifted apart.