Page 10 of The Weight of Her Silence
Nate closed his eyes, the truth sinking in: this night had changed everything. He had crossed a line, and there was no going back.
The silence after was deafening. Nate sat on the edge of Camille’s bed, his back slick with sweat, muscles still humming from release—but his heart was pounding for a very different reason. He stared at his hands, trembling faintly, as if they belonged to someone else.
What have I done?
Camille lay behind him, sated, her skin glowing in the amber light. Her fingers traced lazy lines along his spine, soft and possessive.
“You okay?” she asked sleepily, her voice filled with satisfaction.
No. He wasn’t.
He had broken something sacred. Shattered it with his own hands, with the reckless thrust of his hips, with every moan he’d drawn from Camille’s throat. He’d crossed a line he swore he never would.
And yet…
The weight of guilt coiled with something shamefully addictive. He couldn’t deny how alive he had felt. Not in years.
Not since before the kids, before the quiet resentment, before the long silences and the dutiful lovemaking that had lost its spark. He had wanted more. And now he had it—in the most damning way.
Camille curled around him, her lips brushing his shoulder.
“You don’t have to go,” she murmured.
But he did. He had a family. A wife. Still, he didn’t move. Not yet. Because for the first time in a long time, Nate felt something other than numbness. Even if it destroyed him.
At home, the clock ticked past midnight. Lila stood in the kitchen, barefoot in silence, her fingers wrapped around a cup of tea gone cold long ago. She stared out the window, though there was nothing to see but the darkened street and the shadows of trees swaying in the night breeze.
Nate still wasn’t home. It wasn’t the first time. But tonight, the silence felt different. He hadn’t called. Hadn’t texted. And there was a strange stillness in her chest that wouldn’t let her rest. She sat at the table, the soft ticking of the wall clock filling the room like a heartbeat. Something had shifted. She couldn’t explain it, couldn’t point to any hard evidence—but she knew it, deep in her bones.
The distance between them, once just emotional, now felt physical. Tactile. Heavy in the air. Their marriage hadn’t been perfect for years. She’d accepted the change quietly, thinking it was what happened with time, with children, with exhaustion. But this? This was different.
She reached for her phone, hesitating before opening their message thread. Nothing. Just a string of her messages left on “Read.”
A cold, familiar ache crept through her chest. She stood and walked to the bedroom, sliding beneath the covers, though she knew she wouldn’t sleep. She turned to Nate’s empty pillow, her fingers brushing it gently.
She didn’t cry. She just waited. And somewhere deep inside her, something fragile began to crack.
Chapter 11
The Growing Divide
Lila didn’t need proof. She didn’t need lipstick on a collar, a strange perfume, or unfamiliar receipts.
She had silence. And silence was louder than any confession. Nate had come home just before dawn, smelling faintly of sex and guilt. He had showered before climbing into bed beside her, thinking the water would wash away the truth. But the lie lingered on his skin.
She didn’t ask where he had been. She didn’t need to. Instead, she watched him as he slept, his brow furrowed even in rest, his mouth slack in a way that made her feel like a stranger in her own bed.
She touched his wedding ring while he was unaware, staring at the glint of gold as if it belonged to someone else. She remembered the man who had knelt before her years ago, promising forever. The man who once looked at her like she was his entire world. That man didn’t come home last night. And though she told herself not to spiral, the images began to form anyway—vivid, cruel fantasies of him wrapped aroundsomeone else, touching another woman the way he used to touch her.
They weren’t just images. They were possibilities. They were her intuition screaming. And it left her hollow.
That day, she barely spoke. Ava asked twice if she was okay. Caleb clung to her shirt at breakfast longer than usual. But Lila could only offer them faint smiles and forced reassurances.
She knew she was slipping. Quietly. And no one was noticing. Nate knew he should feel worse. But all he felt was addicted. He told himself it had just been that one night—that it wouldn’t happen again.
That it was a mistake. A moment of weakness. A lapse in judgment.
But Camille wasn’t done with him. And deep down, he wasn’t done with her. She knew exactly what buttons to press.
