One evening, I climbed into bed and held out my hand to him. He flinched, as if he had been shocked.
"Sorry, Mik. I'm just very tired."
But he was lying, I knew it deep down. I knew the form my husband's fatigue took, and this wasn't it.
***
A few days later, he started locking our bedroom door in the afternoon. Once, I knocked to ask if he wanted lunch, and he broke down. "I'm fine, Mikayla. Please, just... not now."
If there's one thing I was sure of, it's that my husband never yelled at me. And he never locked the doors.
"Maybe he just needs a little space."
I began to wonder if he regretted marrying me. If my mother was right, and if all of this was too much for him.
My own doubt crept in, a whisper that grew louder day by day.
***
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