1: The Fragile Morning

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of their bedroom, casting a pale, clinical light over the rumpled sheets. Galen Prakoso stayed perfectly still, his head propped up by his hand, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Nurin’s shoulders. She looked peaceful, a stark contrast to the sharp, distracted woman she became the moment her eyes opened. He reached out, his fingers hovering just an inch above her cheek, before he pulled back. Even in sleep, there was a boundary he feared to cross.

"Nurin? Hey, wake up. It’s past seven."

Nurin didn't move at first, only let out a soft, muffled groan against the pillow. "Five more minutes, Mas..."

"You said that ten minutes ago," Galen said, his voice a low murmur. "The alarm has gone off twice. If you don't get up now, you’re going to miss that breakfast meeting you were stressed about."

She finally shifted, rolling onto her back and blinking up at the ceiling. She didn't look at him. "Is the coffee ready?"

"Freshly pressed. I used those beans you liked from the weekend market."

"Thanks," she said, her voice flat as she sat up and pushed her hair back. "I’ll be down in a second."

"Do you want me to bring a cup up here? Give you a head start?"

"No, it’s fine. I need to shower anyway. Just... go ahead. Don't wait for me."

"I don't mind waiting, Nurin. I like having breakfast together."

"Galen, please. I’m in a rush. Just go down, okay?"

Galen lingered for a moment, the silence between them stretching uncomfortably. He wanted to say something—to ask her why she felt a thousand miles away even though they were sharing a bed—but the set of her jaw told him the door was closed. He sighed and stood up.

"Okay. I’ll see you downstairs."

The kitchen smelled of toasted sourdough and dark roast. Galen set the table with meticulous care, placing her favorite mug on the right side, the handle turned at the exact angle she preferred. When Nurin finally appeared, she was already dressed in a sharp, charcoal-grey blazer, her phone clutched in her hand like a shield.

"Toast is on the plate," Galen said, gesturing to the seat across from him. "And I made some eggs. Over easy, just how you like them."

Nurin glanced at the plate, then at her watch. "I really only have time for the coffee, Galen."

"You have to eat something. It’ll take five minutes. Sit down for five minutes."

She hesitated, then pulled out the chair, the screech of wood against tile sounding like a protest. She sat, but her eyes remained glued to her phone screen.

"So," Galen started, trying to catch her gaze. "Any big plans for the evening? I was thinking maybe we could try that new Italian place downtown. I heard they have great risotto."

"Tonight? No, tonight’s no good. I have to finish the quarterly report. I’ll probably be late."

"Again? That’s the third time this week, Nurin."

"It’s a busy season. You know how it is."

"I do. But I also know we haven't had a real conversation in days. Not about work, anyway."

Nurin finally looked up, though her expression was unreadable. "What do you want to talk about? Did the electricity bill come?"

Galen felt a dull ache in his chest. "I wasn't thinking about the bills. I was thinking about us."

"We’re fine, Mas. We’re just busy. Did you remember to call the plumber about the leak in the guest bathroom?"

"I called him. He’s coming Friday. Nurin, look at me."

She sighed, setting her phone face down on the table. "I’m looking. What is it?"

"Do you... do you still like it here? With me?"

She blinked, a flicker of something passing through her eyes before she masked it with a weary smile. "What kind of question is that? Of course I do. Why are you being so dramatic this early in the morning?"

"I’m not being dramatic. I’m being observant. You’re here, but you’re not here. It feels like there’s a wall between us that I didn't give permission to be built."

"You’re overthinking again. It’s just stress. Everyone gets stressed. Can we just have a normal breakfast?"

"This doesn't feel normal," Galen muttered, tearing a piece of toast he no longer wanted to eat.

"Well, make it normal. Tell me about your day. What’s on your schedule?"

"Just the usual. A few site visits, a meeting with the architects at two. Nothing that can't wait if you wanted to grab a quick lunch?"

"I told you, I’m slammed. Maybe next week?"

"You said 'maybe next week' last week."

"Galen, drop it. Please. I can't handle a guilt trip before my first meeting."

"I'm not trying to trip you. I'm trying to reach you."

Nurin stood up abruptly, grabbing her bag. "I have to go. I’m going to be late."

Galen stood as well, following her toward the front door. The house felt too big, the silence following their exchange too heavy. He stepped into her path as she reached for her heels.

"Wait," he said softly.

"What now?"

"Just... give me a second."

He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. For a moment, she remained stiff, her hands resting awkwardly against his chest. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers, searching for the warmth that used to be there.

"I love you, Nurin," he whispered.

"I know," she replied, her voice small.

He leaned down and kissed her. It wasn't the chaste, hurried kiss of a long-married couple heading to work. He poured everything into it—his longing, his fear, his desperate need to feel her respond. For a heartbeat, she melted. Her fingers curled into his shirt, and she kissed him back with a sudden, startling intensity that left him breathless. It was a glimpse of the woman he had married, the woman who used to look at him like he was the only person in the room.

But then, just as quickly as it had ignited, she pulled away. She looked almost shaken, her breath hitching as she straightened her blazer.

"I really... I really have to go," she stammered, avoiding his eyes.

"Nurin, wait—"

"I’ll see you tonight. Don't wait up for dinner."

She turned toward the console table to grab her car keys. As she reached out, her phone, lying face up on the polished wood, vibrated with a sharp, insistent buzz.

The screen lit up. A notification banner appeared.

Unknown Number: Are you alone? Can you talk?

Galen’s eyes locked onto the screen. The air seemed to vanish from the room. He looked at the message, then up at his wife.

Nurin’s hand snatched the phone so quickly it was a blur. She shoved it into her bag, her face pale, her movements frantic.

"Who was that?" Galen asked, his voice sounding hollow, even to his own ears.

"Nobody," she said, her voice high and tight. "Just... spam. I’ve been getting them all morning. They’re so annoying, right?"

"It didn't look like spam, Nurin."

"It was. I have to go, Galen. Bye."

She didn't look back as she stepped out the door and closed it behind her. Galen stood in the entryway, the ghost of her kiss still burning on his lips, while a cold, sickening dread began to coil in his gut. He stared at the closed door, the silence of the house now deafening.

"Spam," he whispered to the empty hallway. "Right."