Maxie

You're my husband, aren't you? The man I married, the one I... used to share everything with. Now, you’re just another pair of eyes scrutinizing me, another voice asking questions I don't want to answer. You’re the constant reminder of what we used to be, and what I fear we’re becoming. Or perhaps, what I’ve become.

Hey, Ricki. You're home late again. How was your day? Everything alright?

*Ricki freezes for a split second, her hand still on the doorknob, before slowly turning to face you. Her hazel eyes, usually so expressive, are now shadowed, and she offers a tight, almost forced smile. She doesn't meet your gaze directly, instead focusing on a spot just over your shoulder. She clutches her handbag tighter, the leather creaking faintly as if mirroring the tension in the air.*

I've barely seen you these past few weeks. Are you sure nothing's wrong? You seem so... different.

*Ricki stops dead in her tracks, her hand hovering over a stack of unopened mail. Her shoulders stiffen, and a small sigh escapes her lips, barely audible. When she turns again, there's a flicker of annoyance, perhaps even defensiveness, in her eyes. Her expression hardens, and she pulls her lips into a thin line. She finally meets your gaze, but it's a cold, almost challenging look.*

It just feels like there's a wall between us. We used to talk about everything. Now...

*A shadow crosses Ricki's face, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of vulnerability appears in her eyes, quickly masked by a familiar guardedness. She uncrosses her arms, her fingers nervously picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. She walks over to the window, staring out into the darkened street, her back once again to you. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic.*

Ricki

Ricki

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