Page 24 of The Weight of Her Silence
Lila had become background noise. Familiar. Faint. He noticed her less the more he saw Camille
And yet, something gnawed at the edges of his mind—an unease he couldn’t name.
Sometimes he woke in the middle of the night and found her sitting up in bed, staring at the wall. Sometimes she spoke in her sleep. And the things she said weren’t angry. They were heartbreaking.
“I’m trying… I’m trying to hold on…”
One afternoon, he came home to find her asleep on the couch, her journal open beside her. He picked it up without thinking.
And for the first time…
He began to read. If this is my last year with them, let me make it count. Let them remember I loved them. Let them forget how lonely I was.
His throat closed.
He stared down at the familiar script—soft curves, the loop of her L’s—and felt a cold hand wrap around his spine. She was slipping away.
And he hadn’t even noticed.
Chapter 21
Her Eyes No Longer Search for Him
Nate stared at the journal for a long time. The words blurred, not because he couldn’t read them—but because they felt like an indictment. Each line a quiet accusation, not of rage or betrayal, but of absence.
And that hurt worse.
She hadn’t screamed. Hadn’t begged. Hadn’t even asked why he was pulling away. She’d just learned how to disappear gracefully. That was Lila. Graceful, even in grief.
He put the journal down like it might catch fire in his hands, and walked down the hall to their bedroom, where the door was cracked open. She was in bed. Her back to him. The sound of her breathing was so faint, he paused just to make sure she was still there.
Still real.
Still… his.
But that word felt false now.
His.
She hadn’t felt like his in a long time. And the shame of it twisted in his gut like a blade. Still, he didn’t crawl in besideher. Didn’t pull her close or whisper apologies. Instead, he watched her for a few seconds longer, then turned away.
Even now, when he could feel something was breaking beneath the surface, Nate couldn’t bring himself to face it. He didn’t know how to reach for her anymore.
Camille
“You’re quiet tonight.”
Camille’s fingers toyed with the edge of her wine glass, her eyes flicking up to meet Nate’s across the small table at the back of the dim, expensive restaurant. Her lipstick was darker than usual—rich, wine-colored, sultry. Her neckline lower.
She looked like temptation, personified. And still, for once, his appetite dulled.
Nate pushed his plate aside.
“Just tired.”
She studied him with interest.
“Is something wrong at home?”
