Page 27 of The Weight of Her Silence
Camille watched Nate sleep. He always looked softer after sex—unguarded, younger somehow. His lips slightly parted, breath slow and even, chest rising in a rhythm that didn’t match the chaos inside her.
Camille had once promised herself she wouldn’t be that woman. The kind who waited for crumbs of attention. Who made excuses for someone else's husband. Who measured love in hotel visits and unfinished texts.
But that line blurred quickly.
Especially now, when he turned to her more often. When he told her things—about work, stress, even the kids. When his hands gripped her like she was his anchor and his undoing.
So when he stirred and pulled her close with a soft, mumbled “stay,” something in her snapped loose.
She wasn’t just the other woman anymore. She was becoming his woman. Even if no one else saw it.
Nate
“You’re quiet,” Camille said the next morning as she buttoned her blouse, her movements deliberate, slow, almost teasing.
“Thinking about her?”
He looked up from the coffee cup on the bedside table.
“No.”
A lie.
But it didn’t matter. Camille leaned in, brushed her lips against his.
“I don’t mind when you think about her. As long as you remember where you are when you’re inside me.”
It was the kind of line that should have made him feel sick. But instead, it made him want her more. That terrified him.
Later, in the car, Nate stared at his wedding ring. Lila hadn’t asked where he’d been.
Again.
She hadn’t even looked up from the laundry basket when he came in last night. There were no questions anymore.
Just silence.
Just space where something used to be. And yet, Camille was beginning to ask more. She sent more messages now. Wanted longer calls. She hinted at weekends away.
She joked—only half-joking—about him not needing to go home at all. She was the chaos he escaped to. The storm he had invited in.
And now, it was clear:she had no intention of staying in the background.
Lila
The pain came in waves now. Not sharp—yet. Just constant. Her doctor’s words echoed as she folded clothes in silence:
"If we start now, the chances are manageable. You’re young, otherwise healthy. But I won’t lie to you—it’ll be a fight."
And she wasn’t sure who she was fighting for anymore. The kids. Yes. Always.
But for Nate?
He hadn’t noticed the weight loss. Or the dark circles. Or how many hours she spent curled on the bathroom floor, waiting for the nausea to pass. She was a ghost in her own home, and he didn’t even flinch.
Still, she hadn’t told him.
Not yet. He didn’t deserve to know.
