The apartment felt unusually quiet that night.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet—but the hollow, echoing kind that creeps beneath the skin.
Elena paced the living room, glancing at the digital clock on the wall.
22:48.
23:12.
23:40.
Every minute stretched longer than the last.
She had texted Gabriel earlier—just something simple.
"Are you coming home for dinner?"
The message stayed delivered, unread.
It wasn't unusual for him to work late. He was a man with too many responsibilities, and she knew that.
But tonight felt different.
Tonight felt wrong.
Her mind replayed the afternoon conversation she overheard at the lobby—his two employees whispering sharply:
"Did you see the woman in his office again?"
"The one who looks like the ex-wife? Yeah."
Elena had walked past them, pretending she heard nothing.
But the words clung to her like smoke.
She tried distracting herself—washing dishes that didn't need washing, rearranging books, scrolling social media without seeing anything at all.
At 00:03, her phone buzzed.
She rushed to it, only to see a message from her editor:
"New chapter received. Great emotional tension. Keep it going."
She dropped the phone onto the couch.
Writing about heartbreak was one thing.
Living it was another.
Finally, unable to stand the mental torture, she dialed Gabriel.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Her stomach tightened.
On the fourth ring, the call connected.
But he didn't speak.
She could hear faint background noise—voices, muffled music, and something that sounded like a glass being set down.
"Gabriel?" she said softly.
A pause.
A deep sigh.
"Elena… I'm still in a meeting."
His voice was low, tired, but there was something else too—something tight, as if he were choosing every word carefully.
"A meeting? At midnight?"
"It ran late."
"With who?"
More silence followed. Longer than it should have been.
"That doesn't matter. I'll explain when I get home. Don't stay up."
And he ended the call.
Just like that.
Elena stared at the blank screen.
Her heart had started beating faster instead of calmer.
She whispered to the empty room, "Why do I feel like you're lying?"
A storm gathered outside, wind brushing against the windows.
The apartment lights flickered.
She tried to sleep, but every sound made her sit up.
She tried to read, but the sentences blurred.
At 02:17, she finally gave up and walked to the balcony.
Downstairs, the city glowed with sleepless neon—bars open, taxis passing, strangers walking beneath umbrellas.
She wasn't the only one awake.
But she was the only one waiting.
When the elevator dinged at 03:02, she froze.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Slow. Heavy.
The door unlocked.
Gabriel walked in—tie loosened, shirt wrinkled, hair messy as if he'd run his hands through it too many times.
He looked exhausted.
But Elena didn't see exhaustion.
She saw distance.
She saw something missing from his eyes.
"You're still awake?" he asked quietly.
"How can I sleep," she whispered, "when you don't even tell me where you are?"
His jaw tensed.
"Elena, not tonight. I'm tired."
"So am I," she whispered.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Gabriel walked past her, straight to the bedroom, closing the door gently—but firmly.
Not slamming.
But shutting her out regardless.
The storm outside finally broke, rain hitting the windows hard.
And Elena felt something break inside her too.