Then something changed.
He sat on the bed.
“I felt like I was losing you.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Ever since we moved, all you talked about was making friends. Parties. Coffee. Going places.”
“Because I was happy.”
“You used to tell me everything. Then suddenly, every conversation was about somebody else.”
“Lucas, you were still the person I came home to.”
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He looked away.
“It didn’t feel that way.”
I stared at him.
“So you decided nobody else should want me?”
“I didn’t make anyone do anything.”
“You lied about me.”
“I just wanted us to be close again.”
I shook my head.
“We were close.”
He looked down.
“I liked when it was just us.”
He paused.
“At first, I only told Katresa you were busy. Then you seemed so relieved when I said you didn’t have to keep trying with everyone.”
I stared at him.
“Relieved?”
“You stopped worrying about whether they liked you.”
“Because I thought they didn’t.”
He said nothing.
Then I understood something.
The way he seemed almost relieved whenever a social plan fell through.
The way he always knew exactly what to say afterward.
The comfort.
The reassurance.
The gentle reminders that other people couldn’t understand me.
I whispered, “You were comforting me for something you were doing to me.”
Lucas said nothing.
I waited for him to deny it.
He didn’t.
“You made me think something was wrong with me.”
His eyes filled.
“I never meant for it to go this far.”
“But you kept doing it.”
He reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
“I spent three months thinking nobody wanted to know me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You watched me cry.”
He looked at the floor.
That was the moment something broke.
Not because I stopped loving him.
Because I finally understood what he’d been doing with my love.
He’d made himself necessary by taking everyone else away.
I told him to stay somewhere else that night.
He argued.
Apologized.
Promised counseling.
I told him we could discuss our marriage another day.
But not tonight.
When he finally left, I stood alone in the hallway for a moment.
I could hear my neighbors laughing in the living room.
For weeks, I’d been afraid they didn’t really want to be here.
Now I knew someone had been trying to make both of us believe that.
I walked back toward their voices.
Grace was waiting near the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“I know.”
“I should’ve told you sooner.”
“Yes. You should have.”
She nodded.
I wasn’t ready to forgive her.
But I was grateful she’d finally told me.
Katresa stayed after the other guests left.
We cleaned up together.
Neither of us mentioned Lucas.
Before leaving, she stood in the doorway.
“Friday?” she asked.
I smiled.
“Friday.”
A few days later, I moved the couch to clean underneath it.
The handprints were still there.
Faint under ordinary light.
I remembered how frightened I’d been when I first saw them.
I’d thought another woman had taken something that belonged to me.
But that wasn’t what happened.
My husband had taken something much quieter.
The chance to be known.
I didn’t erase the marks that day.
I simply moved the couch back.
On Friday morning, someone knocked.
Katresa stood outside.
Two coffees in her hands.
Grace was beside her, looking a little nervous.
“Don’t get emotional,” Katresa warned. “My cat already thinks I’m weak.”
I laughed and stepped aside.
Then I looked at Grace.
She hesitated.
I opened the door a little wider.
This time, I didn’t have to wonder whether I was wanted.
I knew.
Enjoyed the read? Here is another story you will love: For four years, my boyfriend showered me with gold and diamonds. But when my grandmother fell ill, and I tried to sell one of his gifts to buy her medication, I discovered every piece was fake. I thought that was his worst betrayal.
