Linda sat motionless, the soft thrum of the washing machine the only thing anchoring her to the moment. It was the same routine, the same silence, the same distance that had quietly grown between them like mold in a dark corner—unnoticed at first, then impossible to ignore.

She stared at the front door, knowing exactly how it would go. David would walk in, eyes dull, face blank, and move through the house like a shadow she could no longer reach. No kiss, no question of how her day was. Just the familiar thud of his briefcase hitting the floor, the squeak of the bathroom door, the running water. Then dinner, eaten across from one another but separated by an invisible wall neither dared to touch.

For a while, she had hoped it was stress, exhaustion, the weight of the world slowly grinding them down. But now she wasn’t sure. Now, it just felt like absence. A ghost of a marriage, haunted by all the things they never said.

The machine beeped softly—the cycle was done. But Linda stayed still, staring into the shadows, wondering if the real cycle would ever ever.