That evening, after work, I came home determined to speak with Henry.James's advice echoed in my mind:
"Talk to him. Men don't read signs, they read billboards."
So when Henry walked through the door, loosening his tie and rubbing his forehead, I approached him gently.
"Hey," I said softly. "Are you okay?"
He paused mid-step. "Yeah. I'm fine."
His answer was too quick — the kind of answer meant to end the conversation, not start one.
I stepped closer. "Henry… are you sure nothing's wrong?"
He gave a tired smile. "I'm sure, babe."
But something about the way he said it didn't sit right with me. His eyes didn't meet mine long enough. His shoulders stayed tense.
"Can we talk?" I asked quietly.
He sighed, long and heavy. "Jane, please… I'm exhausted. Today was brutal."
"It's important," I whispered.
"Can it wait till tomorrow?" he said, rubbing his face. "I really need some sleep."
The way he said it was soft but firm — a wall I couldn't get past.
I didn't want to seem needy. I didn't want to force him.
So I swallowed the ache in my throat and nodded."Okay. We'll talk tomorrow."
"Thank you," he murmured, kissing my forehead before heading to the bathroom.
I watched him leave, my chest tightening.Something was wrong.I wasn't imagining it.
But he didn't want to talk.Not tonight.Maybe not at all.
I got to the office early, hoping work would distract me, but instead I found myself staring blankly at my computer screen, rereading the same sentence five times.
At 10:13 a.m. sharp, James strolled in without knocking, holding a cup of coffee.
"For you," he announced proudly.
I blinked. "Why?"
"You looked like you needed caffeine or divine intervention. I can only provide one."
A smile pulled at my lips despite everything. "Thank you."
He sat on the chair across from me. "Rough night?"
I hesitated. "Kind of."
He nodded slowly, not pushing. "Want to talk about your… friend again?"
I let out a small breath. "Yeah. She tried talking to her husband last night. He said he was too tired. He avoided it."
James frowned. "That's convenient."
"He said they'd talk today." "And did they?" he asked.
I swallowed. "I don't know. He left early."
James leaned back. "Hmm. That's not great. But also, it might be nothing. Sometimes men avoid serious talks because they're scared of disappointing you."
His words hit harder than he realized.
"But," he added with a smirk, "if your friend's husband continues acting weird, I volunteer as tribute to interrogate him."
I laughed — a small, genuine laugh. "That won't be necessary."
"Too bad," he said dramatically. "I already prepared my detective speech."
I raised a brow. "Oh? And what's your first line?"
He cleared his throat and said in a deep fake-serious voice, "Sir, is your brain switched on or should I hand you a manual?"
I burst into laughter. "James, please go."
He stood, smiling proudly. "Making you laugh is my community service."
Then he walked out, leaving a trail of comfort behind him.
During my lunch break, I dialed Amara. She answered on the second ring.
"Girl, I was just thinking about you," she said warmly. "How's married life treating you today?"
I sighed heavily. "Mara… something's wrong."
Her tone instantly softened. "Talk to me."
So I did. I told her about Henry becoming distant. The way he didn't look at me anymore. The "okay." The avoided conversations. The emptiness I couldn't explain.
Amara didn't interrupt once.
When I finished, there was silence on the line for a moment before she spoke gently:
"Jane… I don't think Henry is cheating."
I bit my lip. "I don't want to assume that. But something isn't right."
"No," she said firmly. "Listen to me. Henry loves you. He's not the type to cheat. He adores you."
I exhaled shakily. "Then why is he acting like this?"
"People distance themselves when they're scared," Amara said. "Or stressed. Or hiding something painful. But it doesn't automatically mean another woman."
I rested my head on my desk. "I just want my husband back."
"You will," she whispered. "But you need to talk to him, Janie. Properly. Sit him down and tell him everything you told me."
"I tried."
"Try again," she said softly. "You're his wife. If something is wrong, you deserve to know."
I closed my eyes. "Thank you, Mara."
"That's what best friends are for," she said immediately. "Call me anytime. Even if it's 2 a.m."
Her voice wrapped around me like a warm blanket, steady and reassuring.
After the call ended, I sat quietly, staring at nothing.
Part of me felt lighter.Part of me felt heavier.
I didn't know which one to trust.
But one thing was certain:
Tonight…I would try again.