Chapter 3

The day passed in a blur of meetings and repetitive tasks. Léa struggled to focus on her projects, on the straight lines and curves she was drawing, on the plans she was adjusting to the millimeter… but her mind wandered endlessly. It escaped as soon as she let her guard down, projecting her into unknown landscapes, vibrant cities full of life, where she could get lost and be reborn. She dreamed of wandering through the alleys of a foreign city, the taste of the unknown, the warmth of a new gaze. She dreamed of freedom, of a fresh breath that would sweep away the suffocating monotony.

As the hours passed, she felt herself drifting away from herself. The screen in front of her was just an opaque wall, and behind it, the blurry outlines of a woman tired of fighting against a life that was too narrow.

When the end of the day arrived, Léa was exhausted. But it was not a physical fatigue. It was deeper. A dull, invisible exhaustion, the result of a constant struggle against her own thoughts. A silent weight that added up with every moment of indifference, every word unspoken, every silence too long.

She grabbed her bag and left the office as the city lights turned on one by one, as if to remind her that the world continued on without her. The sky, however beautiful, was tinged with orange and pink hues. But even this natural spectacle awakened nothing in her. Nothing truly crossed her mind anymore.

The journey home was silent. Not even the radio to fill the void. Just the regular sound of the wheels on the asphalt, the headlights of passing cars, and her thoughts like a dull drum in her head. She dreaded the moment she would cross the threshold of their apartment. Yet she naively hoped that something would be different tonight. A word. A look. A sign.

But no.

Upon opening the door, she found the same frozen scene as in the morning: Thomas, sitting in the living room, bent over his laptop, headphones on, absorbed in his work. His slightly hunched back, his fingers typing frantically on the keyboard. The same cold halo of blue light illuminating his face.

— Hi, I’m back, she said, almost timidly.

He barely looked up at her.

— Hi, he replied with a half-smile, then immediately returned to his screen.

A discreet sigh escaped Léa's lips. She took off her shoes and slowly headed to the kitchen. She prepared a simple dinner, automatic gestures. She peeled, chopped, sautéed, without thinking too much. Everything seemed blurry to her. She had trouble concentrating, so much were her thoughts swirling.

Was this really the life she wanted?

A modern but cold apartment.

A man she still loved but who no longer saw her.

A well-ordered existence but without vibration.

She set the table, served the plates. Thomas came to join her, barely removing his headphones, his attention still floating elsewhere. They ate almost in silence.

Léa made an effort. She wanted to break the ice.

— How was your day? she asked gently.

— Good, he replied curtly, without even looking up from his plate.

One word. Just one. Cutting like a blade.

She didn’t insist. She felt a wall rise up, even taller, colder than usual. So she fell silent, trapped in a silence she hadn’t chosen.

She felt like a stranger in her own home. The space was the same, the furniture hadn’t moved, but everything seemed different. Empty. Icy.

She thought about speaking. About telling him everything. About expressing the pain that was gnawing at her.

But a dull fear closed her throat.

What if he didn’t understand?

What if he didn’t want to understand?

And what if, deep down, there was nothing left to save?

She got up, cleared the table, put away the leftovers in a heavy silence. Thomas returned to his computer, as if all this had been just an unnecessary interlude in his evening. He didn’t ask her if she was okay. He didn’t ask her anything.

In the bathroom, facing the mirror, Léa scrutinized her reflection.

Her eyes were sad.

Her face was beautiful, but frozen.

Like a soulless work of art.

She needed to wake up.

She could no longer ignore this emptiness.

She could no longer continue pretending.

She wanted to find passion, joy, sparkle.

She wanted to find herself.

But for that, she would have to face her fears.

Face reality.

And maybe… face Thomas.

That night, Léa lay down in bed with emptiness in the hollow of her heart.

She stared at the ceiling engulfed in shadow, her arms folded against her as if to protect herself from an inner cold that neither the sheets nor the duvet could warm.

Thomas still hadn’t come in.

She knew the scene to come. She had lived it so many times that she could guess each gesture, each silence.

But what weighed on her the most wasn’t the habit. It was the distance that had settled between them, slow, insidious, like a silent disease.

It had been months since he had touched her. Not a kiss. Not a hand in her hair. Not a shiver.

And she wondered: how long was this going to last?

How long would she endure the absence in presence?

How long would she pretend they were still a couple?

The bedroom door creaked softly.

Thomas finally entered.

He said nothing. Didn’t look at her.

He simply placed his phone on the bedside table, removed his clothes in a silent automatism, then lay down in bed without a word.

He pulled the blanket over himself and turned his back to Léa, as if he didn’t want to see her. As if he didn’t even want to exist in the same space as her.

Léa remained frozen.

A tear silently flowed down her temple, then another.

She wasn’t sobbing. She wasn’t crying out.

She was collapsing silently, inside.

She turned her eyes towards that back she knew by heart, but which suddenly seemed foreign to her.

There was a chasm between them. And every night spent like this widened it further.

She could have touched him. Said something. Tried.

But what was the point? He wouldn’t respond. He would close off even more.

So she stayed there, motionless, her heart beating weakly, drowned in a sea of indifference.

And she understood, deep within herself, that something was dying.