THE WOMAN WHO LEFT AND THE MAN WHO STAYED

LILA HARPER

It started since, not this week.

Not even last week.

This was the seventy-seventh day of Marcus not talking to me.

He went around the house and did his own things. He went to work, came back, ate when he wanted to, and slept in the guest bedroom.

He acted as though I wasn't there.

Don't get me wrong. Marcus loved me like no other man I knew. I knew because he told me, and when he wasn't in one of his silence periods, he showed me.

He bought me flowers.

He cooked for me.

He took me on dates.

He held my hand when we went out and looked at me like I was the only woman in the room.

My neighbourhood loved us. Our friends loved us. Even the people we met at the country club loved our relationship.

Everyone thought we had the perfect marriage.

But the silence...

That was something nobody knew about.

Marcus was the man who saved me after I had given love more chances than I should have. Before him, I had been hurt enough times to wonder if love was even meant for me.

Then Marcus came.

He was loving, caring, patient, and everything you could dream of in a husband.

Marcus was my golden retriever.

I wasn't sure I'd ever lacked anything in our marriage.

Until the silence started.

It happened two years into our marriage.

We had gone on a date the night before. Just the two of us. We'd laughed, eaten too much, and talked about everything and nothing.

I went to bed that night feeling like the luckiest woman alive.

The next morning, Marcus woke up and stopped talking to me.

At first, I thought he was tired.

I made breakfast and asked him if he wanted coffee.

He nodded.

That was all.

I asked him if something was wrong.

He looked at me for a second, then walked away.

I followed him.

"Marcus, what's wrong?"

Nothing.

"Did I do something?"

Nothing.

"Are you angry with me?"

He simply kept walking.

I didn't understand.

I spent the entire day trying to figure out what I had done.

By the third day, I was begging him to talk to me.

He wouldn't.

He wouldn't look at me, let alone touch me.

I remember crying so hard one night that I passed out.

I hadn't been eating properly. I couldn't.

How was I supposed to eat when the man I loved suddenly treated me like a stranger?

Marcus found me.

I woke up in our bedroom with him sitting beside me.

His face looked different.

He looked scared.

"Lila."

It was the first word he'd said to me in days.

I stared at him through blurry eyes.

"Marcus?"

He reached for my hand.

And I cried.

Not because I was angry.

Because he was talking to me.

That was all I needed.

I thought I'd gotten my husband back.

I didn't know that moment would become the beginning of a pattern that would slowly destroy me.

The first silence lasted weeks.

Then Marcus became himself again.

He loved me. He took me out. He kissed me. He acted as though nothing had happened.

And I forgave him.

I didn't even ask too many questions.

I was just happy to have him back.

Then it happened again.

The next silence lasted four weeks.

After that, two months.

Then three.

And during those periods, Marcus became a complete stranger.

He didn't buy me flowers.

He didn't cook for me.

He didn't take me on dates.

He didn't touch me.

He didn't talk to me.

Sometimes he wouldn't even look at me.

He simply existed in the same house as me while making it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with me.

And yet, whenever the silence ended, he became my Marcus again.

That was what kept me trapped.

Because how could I leave a man who could be so perfect when he wasn't doing this?

How could I explain it to people?

My friends saw the man who opened doors for me, held me close, remembered my favourite things and looked at me like he had won the lottery.

They didn't see the man who could walk past me in our own home without acknowledging that I existed.

I once tried writing to a podcast about it.

They told me to leave.

I knew they were judging him.

But who cared?

He loved me.

At least, I believed he did.

That morning, Marcus had gone to work and left a message on the kitchen counter.

"The Brits have invited us for dinner. They're hosting a small birthday party. Please be ready by 5 p.m."

I picked up the note and read it twice.

Sophie Brit was one of my closest friends. We'd known each other for years, and she had already told me about the party.

I'd even gone shopping for it.

It was already three in the afternoon, so I went upstairs and searched through my closet.

By five, I was ready.

I wore a beige fringed dress with my Chanel burgundy bag and matching shoes.

When Marcus showed up, he picked me up without saying a word.

I got into the car and looked at him.

He looked handsome.

He always did.

For a while, I said nothing.

Then I couldn't take it anymore.

"I love you."

He kept his eyes on the road.

"Marcus, please."

Nothing.

"Please talk to me."

Still nothing.

"I'm dying inside."

His jaw tightened.

"Please don't treat me like this."

I reached for his hand.

"If I did something, tell me. If I hurt you, tell me what I did."

For a few seconds, there was only silence.

Then he looked at me.

And smiled.

He reached over and held my hand.

My heart jumped.

I smiled back.

It was ridiculous.

I felt like I was sitting beside my crush instead of my husband of ten years.

That was how much power Marcus had over me.

One smile could make me forget seventy-seven days of pain.

When we arrived at the mansion, Sophie ran toward me and hugged me.

"Lila!"

I laughed and hugged her back.

Sophie knew almost everything about me.

For the ten years I'd been married to Marcus, I'd told her everything.

Everything except the silence periods.

I couldn't explain them.

How could I tell my best friend that my husband sometimes stopped loving me for months at a time?

Because that's what it felt like.

Inside the mansion, the party was already lively.

People laughed and drank.

Music played in the background.

And everywhere I looked, people seemed to admire us.

"The Harpers."

I heard someone say it with envy.

I felt proud.

Marcus stayed beside me.

He paid attention to me.

He looked at me with so much love that I almost forgot what happened behind closed doors.

When it was his turn to make a speech about the birthday celebrant, he spoke beautifully.

And, somehow, he spoke about me too.

Someone behind me laughed.

"So predictable. This man loves his wife."

I smiled.

My heart swelled with pride.

Of course he loved me.

He had to.

We ate and drank.

We laughed.

And when the party ended, we greeted everyone before leaving.

On the way home, I held Marcus's hand throughout the drive.

I didn't want to let go.

But the moment we walked through our front door, everything changed.

Marcus dropped my hand.

He walked straight toward the guest bedroom.

"Marcus?"

He didn't stop.

I followed him.

"Marcus, please."

The door closed.

I knocked.

"Please talk to me."

Nothing.

"Did I do something?"

Silence.

Tears filled my eyes.

"I'll be here until tomorrow. You should better open this door."

He didn't.

I cried until I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore.

I cried myself to sleep on the floor outside his door.

I woke up when the door opened.

For a second, I smiled.

I knew he wasn't going to leave me there.

Then I looked up.

Marcus was wearing a dark grey suit.

A new suit.

It dawned on me that he had left me there all night.

He had slept comfortably behind the locked door while I had cried myself to sleep outside it.

He walked past me.

"Marcus..."

He didn't stop.

I followed him outside, crying and calling his name.

He got into his car.

Then he drove away.

I stood there watching him disappear.

I couldn't hold it anymore.

I cried until I was choking, rubbing my chest because I could actually feel the pain there.

Eventually, I cried myself to sleep again.

When I woke up, the sadness was gone.

Anger had replaced it.

I got up and found the spare key to the guest bedroom.

Marcus always locked the door during his silence periods.

I opened it.

The first thing that caught my eye was a document on the table.

I picked it up.

It was a bank statement.

Our joint account.

I stared at the figures.

Then I read them again.

The account was almost completely drained.

Everything we'd built together was gone.

My hands began to shake.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

The flowers.

The dates.

The speeches.

The way he looked at me in front of everyone.

None of it mattered anymore.

One thought came to my mind.

Marcus doesn't love me.

I sat there staring at the statement.

And for the first time in ten years, I didn't make excuses for him.

I didn't wonder what I'd done wrong.

I didn't wait for him to come back.

I didn't tell myself that he loved me.

I was done.

If Marcus could stop loving me for seventy-seven days, then maybe it was time I stopped loving him too.

That morning, I decided I was leaving my husband.

And this time, I wasn't coming back.