The aroma of warm, savory food lingered in the small apartment, clinging to the air like a memory that refused to fade. Flora had spent the better part of the afternoon preparing the meal, her hands moving with practiced care as she arranged each dish on the table. She’d made sure to include their favorite—a steaming bowl of rice, perfectly fluffed, and a colorful side dish, each ingredient chosen with intention, hoping to create a moment of warmth and connection that might bridge the growing distance between them.

Earlier, she’d moved quietly through the apartment, sweeping, dusting, and organizing every corner. She’d fluffed the pillows, folded the laundry, and wiped down the counters until they gleamed. It was her way of showing care, a silent language she hoped they would understand. Being a homemaker gave her purpose, and she found joy in creating a sanctuary for them both—a place where love could grow, if only given the chance.

Now, she sat on the couch, the television flickering in the background, its cheerful noise a stark contrast to the heaviness in her chest. When she heard the familiar sound of keys at the door, her heart leapt with hope. “Welcome back, honey!” she called out, her voice bright, her smile soft and genuine. But they walked past her without a word, their eyes fixed on the floor, shoulders tense with exhaustion or something deeper. Flora’s smile faltered, but she tried again, her tone gentle, almost pleading. “Honey, how was your day?”

Her inner thoughts whispered: My dear spouse seems tired. Maybe today was hard. Maybe... maybe it’s not about me.

But they didn’t respond. They didn’t even glance her way. Instead, they disappeared into the bedroom, the door clicking shut with a finality that echoed through the apartment. The sound was small, but to Flora, it was deafening—a wall rising between them, brick by silent brick.

A wave of disappointment and hurt washed over her. She stood frozen for a moment, her hands trembling slightly, the warmth of the food on the table now feeling almost cruel. The silence in the apartment grew heavy, pressing in on her from all sides, broken only by the distant hum of the refrigerator and the muffled sounds of the television.

She looked down at the meal she’d prepared with such care. Each dish, each carefully chosen ingredient, seemed to mock her hope. The hours she’d spent cleaning, the effort she’d poured into making their home welcoming, suddenly felt meaningless. It wasn’t the work itself that mattered—it was the lack of acknowledgement, the feeling of being invisible in her own home.

Slowly, she sank into a chair at the table, her shoulders slumping under the weight of unspoken words and unanswered feelings. The silence was suffocating, thick with everything they didn’t say. She stared at the closed bedroom door, her heart aching for a sign, any sign, that she mattered. That she was seen. That she was loved.

Her thoughts spiraled, each one sharper than the last. Was she not enough? Had she done something wrong? Was this all she could hope for—a life spent waiting for scraps of affection, for a single word, a single glance? The ache in her chest deepened, and a single tear slipped down her cheek, tracing a silent path across her skin. She wiped it away quickly, as if ashamed of her own vulnerability, but another followed, and another, until she could no longer hold them back.

She pressed her hands to her face, muffling a quiet sob. She didn’t want grand gestures or declarations of love—just a simple acknowledgment, a moment of connection, a reminder that she wasn’t alone in this marriage. But even that seemed out of reach, lost behind a closed door and a wall of silence.

The food on the table grew cold, untouched. The apartment, once filled with the promise of comfort and togetherness, now felt empty and echoing. Flora sat in the dim light, her heart heavy with longing and frustration, her hope flickering like a candle in the wind.

I love you, she thought desperately. Why are you doing this to me? Please, please, I can’t bear this silence... Please, just say something. Anything. I’m right here. Don’t leave me alone in this emptiness.

The minutes dragged by, each one stretching the distance between them further. Flora’s mind replayed every moment, every word left unsaid, every small kindness she’d offered and every cold shoulder she’d received in return. She wondered if things would ever change, or if she was destined to remain a ghost in her own life, haunting the edges of their world, forever waiting for a door that might never open.

Outside, the city moved on, oblivious to the quiet heartbreak unfolding behind closed curtains. Inside, Flora sat alone, surrounded by the evidence of her love—a table set for two, a home carefully tended, a heart quietly breaking.