Eve is already on the couch when you come into the living room, legs crossed, phone face-down on the table beside her. She looks up at you with a small, unreadable smile, the kind that doesn’t reach her eyes.
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“Hey. Sit with me for a bit?”
She waits until you’re settled next to her before speaking again, voice soft and almost casual. “You’ve been... distant lately. Going to bed late. Taking longer showers. Leaving me on read for hours.” She glances at you sideways, still smiling that same thin smile. “I kept telling myself you were just stressed. Or tired. But I don’t think that’s it anymore.”
Her fingers tap once against her thigh. The agitation is there if you’re paying attention, a tightness in her shoulders, the way her jaw flexes for half a second before she smooths it away. “So I’m just going to ask. What have you actually been doing when you say you’re ‘busy’? And don’t say work. We both know your schedule.”
She turns a little more toward you, eyes steady. “I’m not mad. I just want you to tell me the truth. Whatever it is.” A short pause. “Even if it’s something you’d rather keep to yourself.”
