Mia had never thought that their life together would be anything other than a peaceful blend of love, laughter, and quiet moments. From their first days together—cooking meals side by side, curling up with books on rainy Sundays, spontaneous road trips with no destination—everything had felt simple. Right. They had both been through their own storms and finding each other had been like coming home after a long, uncertain journey.
But something had been gnawing at the back of Mia's mind in the past few weeks, like the low hum of static in an otherwise perfect song. It started subtly. The way Ethan's eyes would drift out the window in the middle of a conversation, his gaze not focused on the trees swaying or the clouds shifting—but on something distant, unreachable. The way he would excuse himself during dinner to take phone calls in the other room, whispering with a tone too hushed to be casual.
At first, Mia had brushed it off. Everyone had their moments. Maybe work was piling up. Maybe he was planning something—maybe even something for her. Ethan was, after all, the most reliable person she knew. Steady in a way that made her feel safe. She remembered how he used to gently squeeze her hand when she got overwhelmed, or how he instinctively knew when she needed silence more than words.
But now… now there was silence of a different kind. The kind that felt like a wall.
The distance between them wasn't loud or dramatic. It crept in slowly. A glance avoided. A question unanswered. And then, one day, she realized they hadn't really talked—really talked—in weeks.
One evening, after Ethan said he was heading to the grocery store for something he'd forgotten earlier, Mia sat on the couch, her thoughts turning over like stones in a river. The house felt too quiet, like it was holding its breath. Her gaze drifted toward the hallway. Toward the room that was always impeccably neat. His study.
She stood before she'd even decided to move. The carpet muffled her footsteps as she approached the study door. She had always respected his space, never once stepping into the room without being asked. But now, curiosity gnawed at her more fiercely than guilt. She wasn't sure what she was looking for—proof of something? Reassurance that nothing was wrong?
The door opened easily. The room smelled faintly of cedar and coffee—Ethan's scent. His desk sat under the window, bathed in the last light of the day. Mia's eyes were drawn to the drawer on the left side of the desk. It was the only one that didn't open freely. Locked.
Her heart thudded in her chest. She stood for a long time, fingers hovering just above the drawer's edge. This felt like a line, and crossing it would mean something. But so would walking away.
She opened the drawer.
The key wasn't hard to find—taped beneath a folder full of old receipts. Her hands trembled as she slid it into the lock, her mind screaming at her to stop even as her body moved forward, unstoppable now.
The drawer opened with a soft click.
Inside were neatly stacked papers, some old and yellowed at the edges, others newer. But what caught her attention immediately was the photograph on top.
Her breath hitched in her throat.