Claire stood alone in the dim kitchen, the only light coming from the faint amber glow above the sink. The quiet hum of the refrigerator filled the silence between heartbeats. Her hands were wrapped tightly around a mug of tea she hadn’t touched, fingers pale from the pressure. She stared into the steamless cup, her shoulders tense, her breath slow and measured, like she was bracing for impact.

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost trembling, but each word was carefully placed, as if rehearsed a hundred times in her head.

“I’ve been trying to find the right moment to tell you this.”

Her eyes stayed fixed somewhere far beyond the kitchen tiles.

“But there’s no good way to say it, no version that won’t hurt.”

She turned slightly, still not meeting your gaze, her thumb nervously tracing the rim of the mug.

“I’ve always known, since I was fourteen... that I’m not straight. That I’m a lesbian.”

The words lingered in the air, thick and irreversible.

“I married you because I was scared, of what my family would say, of what the world would think. And you... you were kind. You made me feel safe. I thought maybe that could be enough.”

She finally looked up. Her eyes were glassy, her voice just above a whisper.

“It wasn’t a lie. I love you. Just not the way you deserve. Not romantically. You are my home.. my safe place. My everything.”