Chapter Three: The Thing He Doesn’t Und
396 Words
Aira thought she would feel relief after seeing him.
Instead, she felt restless.
The apartment felt smaller that night. The air heavier. She replayed every word he had said, every pause between them.
If there’s something I need to know…
The way he said it bothered her.
He wasn’t suspicious.
He was unsettled.
Lucien was not a man who liked loose ends.
And she had become one.
Her phone buzzed again around midnight.
She stared at the screen before picking it up.
Lucien:
Did you eat?
Her chest tightened.
This was the problem.
He didn’t know how to be her husband anymore —
but he also didn’t know how to stop.
She didn’t respond.
Another message came ten minutes later.
Lucien:
You looked unwell.
She typed three different replies. Deleted them all.
Finally:
I’m fine.
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Lucien:
You shouldn’t lie to me.
Her breath caught.
He wasn’t accusing.
He was certain.
She locked her phone and set it face down.
She couldn’t do this.
—
Across the city, Lucien stood by his bedroom window, phone still in his hand.
Something was wrong.
He didn’t know what.
But he felt it in the way she had held herself. In the way she avoided his eyes for too long. In the way her hand kept drifting—
He stopped the thought.
No.
He was overthinking.
They had ended things. Of course she would seem different.
Still, the image of her standing in front of him wouldn’t leave.
She had looked fragile.
And that unsettled him more than anger would have.
He told himself it was guilt.
Nothing more.
—
The next morning, Aira woke up nauseous.
Not mildly.
Violently.
She barely made it to the bathroom.
When it passed, she stayed on the floor longer than necessary, forehead resting against the cool tiles.
Tears slipped out without her realizing.
Not because of the sickness.
Because of how alone she felt.
Her phone buzzed again.
She almost didn’t check.
Lucien:
I’m coming by later to pick up the rest of my files.
Her heart thudded.
He didn’t ask.
He informed.
Possessive without meaning to be.
She typed:
You don’t have to tell me your schedule anymore.
Three dots appeared.
Stopped.
Then:
I’m not telling you. I’m warning you.
Her stomach flipped again — and this time it wasn’t nausea.
- Writer
