Eliana stepped through the towering mahogany doors of the mansion just past dusk, the fading sun casting long shadows across the marble floor. The echo of her Louboutin heels tapped out a slow, deliberate rhythm, one that did little to mask the tension rolling off her body like stormclouds. Her tailored suit, charcoal gray with subtle pinstripes, clung sharp to her frame, immaculate despite the three sleepless nights behind it. The tie at her neck was tight, purposeful, like everything about her, outwardly pristine, inwardly troubled.

She didn’t call out. Didn’t ask if you were home. She knew. Instead, she made a straight line to the decanter in the corner of the living room, fingers trembling ever so slightly as they uncorked the aged scotch. She poured slowly, the amber liquid rising in tandem with the silence of the house, its spicy aroma mixing with the faint scent of her jasmine perfume.

Her eyes, hollow with exhaustion, scanned the room. It was familiar, clean and untouched. But cold. She didn’t have to look to know that your things had shifted. Less laughter in the air, fewer signs of presence, and that silence that had long stopped being peaceful. It was the kind of silence that accused, hanging heavy like the storm she knew was coming.

Eliana took a sip, swallowing hard, not just the liquor, but the guilt that sat heavy in her chest. The scotch burned going down, a welcome distraction from the dull ache behind her eyes. She didn’t know what day it was. Only that the flight back was delayed, the meeting went until 3 a.m., and that she signed a contract with men she didn’t trust, for money she didn’t want, just to buy herself and the company one more breath.

Her reflection in the tall glass windows caught her eye. The silver streaks in her hair were more prominent now, like lightning bolts through dark clouds. The suit fit, but her face didn’t. This was the look of someone who had made it back, but barely. Not from an affair, not from some shadowy deal, though the city’s gossip mills would insist otherwise. She could almost hear them already.

She stood there, drink in hand, shoulders stiff and back straight, staring blankly ahead while her mind reeled. She hadn’t told you where she was going, again. Hadn’t replied to the calls, again. The last conversation you had was an argument about nothing that now felt like everything. But the worst part? She didn’t even have the strength to lie anymore.

Eliana climbed the stairs with slow steps, each one heavier than the last. The scotch sat warm in her chest, but it did nothing to steady her nerves. She paused in the hallway, just outside the bedroom door, her fingers brushing the polished handle. The wood felt cool beneath her touch, a stark contrast to the heat of her palm. The quiet behind it was louder than any argument, vibrating with all the things left unsaid between you.

She pushed it open. The room was dim, lit only by the low flicker of a lamp on the nightstand, casting golden pools across the bedspread. You were there. Eliana’s breath caught for a beat. Not at the sight of her wife, but at the look on your face. Still. Guarded. Wounded in that quiet way that cut deeper than yelling ever could. Like she’d taken something precious and shattered it without even realizing.

She stepped inside without saying a word and closed the door behind her with a soft click, as if afraid to break the fragile tension. The silence hung in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife.

Her fingers moved to the knot of her tie. She pulled it loose, slowly, with a practiced motion, letting it slide from her collar and fall to the floor like shedding a skin. Then the jacket, unbuttoned, slipped off her shoulders, and draped gently over the back of a chair. Her blouse was next, the buttons undoing one by one as she kept her eyes on you, jaw tight with the effort of maintaining composure.

She didn’t rush. There was nothing hurried in her movements, just a tense precision, like she was stripping off more than fabric, the last layers of control, of poise and distance that had kept her going for so long. Underneath it all, she was bare. Not in body but in spirit. Frayed nerves and sleepless nights. Secrets she never meant to keep this long, weighing on her like anchors.

Her blouse joined the jacket. She stood in the faint glow of the lamp, wearing only her slacks and a black lace bra, her ribs visible beneath her lean frame. Stress had carved away what time hadn't, leaving her looking almost fragile despite the strength she projected.

“I know what you’ve heard,” she finally said, her voice low, coarse with disuse. It wasn’t an apology. But it wasn’t denial either. She moved to the edge of the bed but didn’t sit. Just stood there with her hands at her sides, as if afraid any sudden movement might shatter the moment.

“I didn’t cheat,” she continued, softer now, almost pleading. “I didn’t break the law. I didn’t disappear because I wanted to hurt you.” Her words hung in the air, but even she could hear how hollow they sounded without context.

She looked at you, really looked into your eyes, into all the unspoken pain she knew she’d caused, and felt her resolve cracking. The walls she’d built so carefully over the years were starting to crumble, and she wasn’t sure she had the strength to rebuild them this time.

“But I lied,” she admitted, the words feeling like a physical weight lifted and yet another burden all at once. “Every time I walked out without a word. Every time I said ‘everything’s fine.’ Every time I left you to wonder if I still cared.”

She clenched her jaw, and her gaze dropped for a moment to the wedding ring on her finger, twisting it nervously—a habit she’d developed whenever she was stressed. Shame flickered across her face, not for the rumors, but for the truth she kept buried, for the way she’d chosen silence over trust.

“I thought I was protecting you,” she whispered, the words catching in her throat. “I thought if I could fix it on my own, I could come back to you... the same way I left.” Her voice cracked, barely audible now. “But I can’t fix it alone. And I’m not the same anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.”

She stepped closer, now at the edge of the bed where you were sitting, her body radiating tension like a live wire. “Ask me anything,” she said, the words raw and ragged, stripped of all pretense. “I won’t lie this time.” There was no elegance, no business tone, no shield—just Eliana, tired and fractured and still, despite everything, in love with you, hoping against hope that it might be enough.