Two Years of Silence

Chapter 2

After Derek said those words, maybe we need help – I waited for him to explain.

He did not.

He went to bed. He pulled the covers to his chin. He turned his back at me. The conversation was over. I lay beside him, staring at the ceiling, running through every possible meaning of help.

A therapist. A physical rehabilitation specialist. A couples counselor. Those were the kinds of help I understood.

I did not understand why he had looked at the guest bedroom.

Weeks passed. Derek did not bring it up again. He went back to his routines. Physical therapy in the mornings. A nap in the afternoon. Television at night. The same hollow rhythm, day after day.

I stopped asking questions. I stopped hoping for answers.

The first year after the accident had been a slow drowning. The second year was worse, because hope died slowly.

I became a ghost in my own house. I moved from room to room, cleaning surfaces that were already clean, cooking meals that went mostly uneaten. I stopped looking in mirrors. I stopped calling friends. I stopped answering the door.

The only person who visited was Derek's mother. She came once a month. She brought casseroles and criticism. She looked at me with those cold eyes and asked why I was not working. I told her someone had to stay home with Derek. She said nothing. Her silence was louder than any insult.

Derek started physical therapy at a clinic three times a week. I drove him. I waited in the car. He learned to walk with a cane. He could climb stairs if I held his arm. His body was healing, slowly. But the distance between us only grew.

He never touched me. Not once. Not a hand on my shoulder. Not a hug. Not a kiss on the forehead.

I started crying in the shower again. The water hid the sound. I would stand under the spray until my skin turned red and my eyes were dry.

I started dreaming about other men. Not their faces. Just their hands. Their warmth. The weight of a body that wanted mine. I woke up guilty every time. Then I woke up lonely. Then I woke up too tired to feel either.

Six months ago, something shifted.

Derek started looking at me differently. Not with desire – with calculation. He would watch me move around the kitchen. He would linger in doorways. He asked strange questions.

Do you ever think about Luca? he asked one night.

We were eating dinner. I was picking at a piece of chicken. Derek set down his fork and looked at me with those calculating eyes.

Luca was his best friend. Sharp suits. Sharp smirk. He had come to visit once after the accident. He hugged me too long. His hand pressed against my lower back. His lips brushed my ear when he said he was sorry. Derek watched from his chair. He did not get angry. He smiled.

I told Derek I did not think about Luca.

It was a lie. I thought about Luca's hand on my back for weeks. I thought about the warmth of his chest against mine. I thought about the way his voice dropped when he said my name.

Do you ever think about Eli? Derek asked another night.

Eli was the quiet one. Intense. He had helped me carry groceries once, years ago. His fingers brushed mine. He apologized three times. His face turned red. I thought about that moment for weeks. The softness of his skin. The way he looked at me like I was something precious.

I told Derek no.

Another lie.

These questions became routine. Once a week, Derek would ask about Luca or Eli. He would watch my face for a reaction. He would smile when I looked away.

I did not understand why. I told myself he was testing me. I told myself he was jealous. I told myself a lot of things that were not true.

Two months ago, I found something in Derek's study.

He was in physical therapy. I was cleaning. I opened his desk drawer to look for a pen. Inside, beneath some papers, was a photograph.

Our wedding. Luca was in the background. His hand was on my waist. His head was thrown back in laughter. The photographer had captured it by accident. But Derek had kept it. Hidden. Like a secret.

I stared at the photograph for a long time. I did not understand why Derek would keep this image. Luca's hand on his wife's waist. Luca's smile. The intimacy of it.

I put the photograph back. I closed the drawer. I never told Derek I had found it.

But I started watching him differently after that.

Last week, Derek asked me to sit with him on the couch. His hand found mine. For a moment, I felt hope. Real hope. The kind that makes your chest ache.

He said he could not give me what I needed. His voice was soft. His eyes were wet.

I told him not to say that.

He squeezed my fingers and said he was not trying to hurt me. He was trying to love me. And love meant wanting me to be happy. Even if happy came from somewhere else.

I did not understand. I asked what he meant.

He looked toward the guest bedroom. The door was closed. Dust on the knob. Then he said the words that changed everything.

Maybe we need help.

I asked what kind of help.

He did not answer. He went to bed.

I lay awake all night.

The next morning, I found him in the kitchen. He was making coffee. His back was to me. His shoulders were tense.

I asked again. What kind of help?

He turned around. His face was calm. Too calm. He said he had been thinking about Luca and Eli.

My stomach dropped. I asked why.

He said they were his oldest friends. He trusted them. He said he had called them. They were coming to visit.

I asked when.

He said tomorrow.

My blood went cold. I asked how long they were staying.

He said a few months. To help. With the house. With him. With me.

I asked what I needed help with.

He did not answer. He just looked at me with that small smile. The same smile from the car on the Tuesday. The smile that said he knew something I did not.

I walked out of the kitchen. I went to the bedroom. I closed the door.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at my hands.

Luca and Eli. Coming tomorrow. Staying for months. Derek had invited them without asking me. Without telling me. He had made a decision about our lives, about our marriage, without a single word.

I was angry. But underneath the anger, something else stirred. Something I did not want to name.

I thought about Luca's hand on my lower back. I thought about Eli's fingers brushing mine. I thought about the photograph in Derek's drawer. His best friend's hand on his wife's waist. And Derek had kept that image. Hidden it. Treasured it.

What did my husband want?

I did not sleep that night. I lay in bed, listening to Derek breathe. He slept soundly. Peacefully. Like a man who had finally made a decision he had been avoiding for years.

In the morning, I stood in the shower for a long time. The water was hot. I let it burn my skin. I tried to prepare myself for what was coming.

I did not know how to prepare for Luca's smirk. I did not know how to prepare for Eli's quiet eyes. I did not know how to prepare for the way my body would react when they walked through the door.

I got dressed. Old sweats. Hair unwashed. I did not want to look like I was trying. I wanted to look like I did not care.

The doorbell rang at nine in the morning.

Derek was in the living room. He called out cheerfully. Get the door, Nova.

I walked to the front door. My hand trembled on the knob. I took a breath. I opened it.

Luca stood on the porch. Black suit jacket, no tie. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. His smile was slow and knowing, like he had already seen me naked.

Behind him, Eli leaned against a duffel bag. His arms were crossed. His eyes were soft but steady. He did not smile. He just looked at me like he had been waiting for this moment for years.

Luca spoke first. His voice was low and warm.

Hey there, Mrs. Hayes. Derek said you needed help.

I opened my mouth to tell him no.

Then Derek called from the living room. Let them in, Nova. They are family.

Luca stepped forward. His shoulder brushed mine as he walked past. The contact lasted less than a second. My skin burned for ten minutes.

Eli did not brush past me. He stopped in the doorway. He looked down at my bare feet, then at my face. He said nothing. He just waited.

I realized then that he would not push. He would not pressure. He would stand in my doorway forever if that was what I wanted.

That made him more dangerous than Luca. By far.

I stepped aside. They walked in.

And I closed the door behind them, knowing that everything was about to change.

But I still did not know what my husband wanted.

And I was terrified I was about to find out.