Mark isn’t trying to hurt her.
He’s trying to understand her.
Maybe it’s dinner after work. Emma is quieter than usual. She’s answering with one-word responses. Mark notices she’s somewhere else mentally.
He asks softly,
“Are you okay?”
She says,
“I’m fine.”
But she’s counting.
He’s chewing.
The fork isn’t lined up with the plate.
The cabinet is still open from when he grabbed a glass.
Four.
Five.
Six.
She isn’t hearing his words anymore.
She’s hearing numbers.
Mark reaches across the table and takes her hand.
For a second…
everything stops.
The counting disappears.
She squeezes his hand back.
The reader gets a moment of hope.
Then Mark stands to rinse his plate.
He walks away.
Leaves the cabinet hanging open.
Emma watches it.
The numbers return faster than before.
Not one.
Not two.
Not three.
All of them.
Every cabinet.
Every sock.
Every light.
Every forgotten moment crashes into her mind at once.
Mark comes back into the room.
He looks at her.
She isn’t looking at him.
She’s staring past him…
at the cabinet.
Finally he asks the question that hurts more than an argument ever could.
“Em…”
“Did I do something?”
She wants to say,
“No… I love you.”
Instead…
she hears herself whisper,
“You left it open.”
Mark looks confused.
He glances toward the cabinet.
Walks over.
Closes it.
Looks back at her.
“…Okay.”
He doesn’t understand.
Emma doesn’t understand either.
That should be the ending.
Not with anger.
Not with a fight.
With silence.
Because for the first time, Mark realizes something is wrong.
And for the first time, Emma realizes she can’t explain it.