My husband has always preferred black and gray, so I was surprised to find a pink pair of underwear suddenly appear in our closet.

“Did you see it?” he asked, a little too casually.

I took the underwear to the bathroom door, waiting for him to take it, but he just looked at it and said, “Change it to black.”

I figured it might just be a free gift from a recent purchase. But then his phone, left outside the bathroom door, lit up with a message:

["Pink couple’s style—think it suits you, Bob?"]

And his reply was right there: "I’ll know when you wear it for me."

——

Before I could process, Bobby nudged me away.

“The water’s cold—come back in a bit,” he said, snapping the door shut.

The lock clicked.

I couldn’t tell if I was overthinking things… or if Bobby was hiding something.

We had our marriage certificate, and everything seemed to be moving in the right direction. But he had become more irritable with me lately, especially this year, as I left early and returned home late every day.

Then, his phone lit up.

A message from a girl named Helena appeared on the screen—a close-up video of her chest. Her skin was fair, a red mole visible, and a thin metal chain glinted against her skin as her chest rose and fell.

["Does it look good, Bob?"]

["Bet she doesn't give you this much fun, right? Can't wait for you to take it off… with your mouth."]

["Just like… last time."]

A buzzing filled my head, and the world blurred as I stared at the floor, my mind reeling, trying to keep my balance.

I leaned against the window, lost in thought. The room was dark; I hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights.

When Bobby came in, he didn’t even notice me at first. His fingers brushed against me, and he immediately pulled back, as if surprised by my presence—or avoiding it.

Since when had he grown so distant?

“Why don’t you turn on the light?” he asked, flicking on the bedside lamp.

The soft amber glow lit his face, and I noticed a faint, sweet scent lingering on him, fresh and unfamiliar.

"I don’t remember us changing the shower gel," I said, unable to hide my curiosity.

He paused mid-motion, his hand still in his hair, before finally replying, “You should try it too.”

The fragrance was… youthful, almost playful—something that belonged to a man in his twenties. It carried a naive energy, tinged with something unspoken. Bobby might not even have noticed, but his mouth curved ever so slightly when he mentioned the shower gel.

“I got up early and moved to the guest room,” he said abruptly, reaching for a pillow.

I grabbed his arm desperately. “Let’s stay here tonight.”

He hesitated, his arm trembling slightly under my touch.

“I’m afraid you won’t sleep well,” he replied softly—the same excuse he’d used for a year now. Before I could respond, Bobby pulled away, clutching his pillow as he hurried toward the door, so preoccupied he left his phone behind.

Another message flashed from Helena.

["Did you make it to the guest room? You’re not going to hold her, are you?"]

He had replied: ["No, you know we don’t feel anything for each other anymore."]

Then came her response: ["Then, Bob, video call me later? I got a new chest chain. It’s beautiful."]

I took a shaky breath, running my fingers through my hair, trying to make sense of it all. This was the man who, the day we got our marriage certificate, celebrated by booking every restaurant in the city. Three years ago, he proposed with so much anxiety he joked he’d need an oxygen tank just to get through it. He’d held my hands, promised, “If I ever change my heart, I’ll swallow a thousand needles.”

That promise had been enough for me to say yes, without a second thought. For years, I’d believed in us.

He came back to retrieve his phone. “I forgot this—go to bed early,” he mumbled.

“Bobby,” I called softly.

But he didn’t look up, his attention already lost to the screen in his hands.

He kept tapping on his phone, barely noticing me.

“Bobby.”

He stopped, finally turning to look at me.

“When are we going to have the church wedding, Bobby?”

A flicker of panic crossed his face before he forced a smile. “Nicole, be patient, okay? I’m really busy right now. Once things settle down, we’ll do it.”

But he didn’t realize how forced that smile looked, how hollow his words sounded.

“I’ve been waiting a year for this wedding,” I said softly.

He stayed silent, his gaze shifting away.

“Bobby… are you still planning to marry me?”

He hesitated. “Nicole, I’m just… really tired tonight.”

“Are you just tired tonight, or… tired of being with me?”

His hand tightened around the doorframe, but he didn’t answer.

I couldn’t tell if I’d guessed correctly or if he was just holding back his frustration. For ten long seconds, we stood in silence. I stared at his broad back, feeling a strange detachment creep over me.

Was this the same Bobby I’d known seven years ago?

He finally closed the door and, in a rare move, lay down beside me. He reached over, gently rubbing my head—a gesture that felt both deliberate and distant.

“Nicole, what’s on your mind?” he asked softly.

I looked at him, expressionless, feeling the weight of everything left unsaid. I wanted to stay in this moment, to cling to the comfort of pretending, as if I didn’t know the truth lurking between us. But the memory of their messages flashed in my mind, and instinctively, I pushed him away.

He looked at me, shocked. Normally, I’d melt into his arms, eager to tell him about my day in that playful, teasing way he always loved. But now, a wall had formed between us, one I didn’t know how to dismantle.

In a rare show of tenderness, he wrapped his arms around me and pressed a kiss on my forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’ve neglected you lately.”

Bobby’s phone kept buzzing, his fingers twitching toward the screen. Just as he was about to reply, I reached out and held his hand. For some reason, he gestured to his mouth, a flicker of discomfort in his eyes. In the dim light, his expression was hard to read, and for a moment, I wished I could see him more clearly—to know if any trace of guilt crossed his face.

He leaned in to kiss me, but his lips barely brushed mine, held tight, as though he couldn’t bear to linger. He pulled back immediately. I let out a bitter laugh, realizing how easily he mistook my sadness for a forgiving smile.

“Nicole, be good,” he murmured, gently.

I nodded, my throat thick with tears I could barely suppress. “Go to sleep,” I whispered, turning away.

As I shifted, I caught the sound of his quiet sigh, one of relief, as though he had just passed through a storm. The tears finally spilled, silently falling as I lay there, wide awake, through the night.

I listened to the soft taps of his typing. Near dawn, I heard the faint hum of a video call.

“Bob…” came her voice, sounding fragile and hurt, laced with a practiced sweetness that cut through the dark room.

I felt Bobby’s gaze on me and quickly closed my eyes, feigning sleep. He hesitated, then, believing I was asleep, he let his guard down. It was past three in the morning, and the quiet confidence in his voice stung.

“Bob, you promised me you'd only hold her, not touch me anymore,” her voice whined softly through the call.

“We’re very far apart,” he reassured her gently.

“I don’t believe you! Show me, show me how far you are!”

There was a gentleness in his voice I hadn’t heard in so long. I didn’t turn around, but I could feel him move, shifting the quilt between us. The chill crept across my back, and I bit down hard, forcing myself to stay still, to keep my shoulders from betraying my shaking heart.

"It's still too close," she insisted. "You can move further away."

"Okay," he agreed, without hesitation, as he always did with her.

I knew everything about Bobby—his routine from answering the phone, getting out of bed, to showering, and leaving. But now, it all feels suffocating. Our home, which should have been a sanctuary, had become a prison, binding us in ways I hadn’t expected.

Exhausted, I dragged myself out of bed, only to receive a message from the Evans Family’s old house. Bobby’s father was celebrating his birthday.

I sent him a message, but of course, there was no reply.

"Nicole, where’s Bobby? Why didn’t you come together?" My mother asked, her voice warm yet curious.

"Mom, Bobby…" I hesitated, unsure of what to say. I had half a mind to go alone, but then, to my surprise, Bobby appeared.

He had stayed in my bed last night, but I knew the girl was upset with him. He would have to spend hours pacifying her again.

"Mom," I heard Bobby’s voice behind me, soft yet unmistakable.

My mother-in-law paused, clearly surprised, before glancing at me several times. I turned to greet Bobby, trying to mask my thoughts.

"I didn’t think you would..." I started, but my words caught in my throat when I noticed the woman standing next to him. My stomach twisted as I swallowed what I’d planned to say. How could he have brought her along so casually? Was this how he intended to handle it—by keeping her in the open?

"Who is this…?" My mother-in-law asked, eyeing the woman with curiosity.

"Mom, this is an intern from the company," Bobby explained smoothly, his tone casual but with an underlying layer of something I couldn’t quite place. "I heard Dad was having his birthday, and she wanted to come by to see the scene."

My mother-in-law’s expression softened somewhat, but she was far from fooled. As someone who had been through her share of experiences, she could undoubtedly sense the tenderness in Bobby’s gaze when he looked at her.

"Hello, Mrs. Evans," the woman greeted, her voice identical to the one I had heard over the phone. She spoke in a soft, almost deferential tone, her eyes lowered in what appeared to be modesty.

"Hello, Mrs. Evans," she repeated, her voice carrying a sweetness that felt too practiced.

"You’re very beautiful," she added with a polite smile, her eyes lingering briefly on me. "And the perfume you’re wearing... it smells wonderful."

"Thank you, Mrs. Evans," the woman replied, her tone almost saccharine. "But this isn’t perfume, it’s actually shower gel. Since you like it, I’ll give you two bottles next time. I wouldn’t want to disturb you and Mr. Evans, so I’ll go ahead and join the others."

I didn't respond, letting her drift to the side. Bobby, as if suddenly reminded of something, awkwardly scratched his nose.

"She’s a new business assistant at the company," he explained, though the explanation felt more like an afterthought. "They think highly of her, so they brought her here to meet with the partners. It’s part of her training."

I glanced at Bobby but said nothing. "You don’t need to explain to me," I said flatly, turning away and sitting back down. The girl had already retreated to a corner, her eyes glued to her phone, but I could sense her growing restlessness.

Coincidentally, Bobby’s phone, which was placed next to her, began vibrating again. Her eyes flickered nervously in our direction, her fingers fidgeting at the screen. She was so on edge it seemed as though she might cry at any moment.

Trying to ignore the discomfort, my mother-in-law leaned over and took my hand, her voice gentle yet persistent. "Nicole, Bobby has been so busy lately. I’ll ask his father to choose an auspicious date for the wedding soon. Do you think you and Bobby can decide on one?"

Bobby looked up from his phone, his focus shifting toward the conversation. I smiled, trying to keep the tone light, though my heart wasn’t in it. "No rush. Let’s wait and see."

Bobby’s gaze lingered on me, and I could sense his frustration, even though he didn’t say anything. His eyes were sharp, filled with a mixture of disbelief and something deeper I couldn’t quite place.

I couldn’t help but wonder: was I wrong? Wasn't this what he wanted to hear?

"Oh?" My mother-in-law pressed, sensing the tension in the air. "Why not hurry? Let me find my husband to pick the date. Bobby, what do you think?"

Bobby glanced at his phone again, his expression unreadable. The question clearly annoyed him—this was a topic he’d never been fond of. But what came next surprised me.

"Okay," he said flatly, his voice was void of any emotion. It was just a single word, but it carried the weight of an unspoken distance between us.

I gently held my mother-in-law's hand, trying to soften the tension. "Mom, it's okay. The company’s more important right now. If Bobby is caught up with work, maybe we should... just forget about the wedding for now."