The first night at the hotel was magical. The waves whispered against the shore, a cool ocean breeze drifted through the balcony doors, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like we were us again. David and I had been married for five years, and while things were never terrible, something always felt… incomplete.
I wanted children—a real family—but David always dodged the conversation, laughing off the idea or changing the subject. Still, when he suggested a beachside vacation, I let myself believe it was a sign of hope. Maybe this was his way of reconnecting, of telling me he was ready to move forward with our life together.
The hotel was stunning, nestled right along the shore with a quaint, old-world charm. Oddly enough, it hadn’t been David’s first choice.
He had been fixated on another hotel at first but suddenly changed his mind when he stumbled across this one. He had seemed strangely excited about it. Maybe I should have paid attention to that.
That night, after a perfect dinner under the stars, we fell into bed exhausted from our travels. David drifted off almost instantly, but sometime after midnight, I woke to the sound of movement.
Still groggy, I turned my head just in time to see David slipping out of bed. He moved carefully, quietly. A soft rustle of fabric. The faint click of the door unlocking. Then, he was gone.
I sat up, my heart pounding. Where was he going in the middle of the night? I told myself I was overthinking. Maybe he needed some air. Maybe he couldn’t sleep. But when I asked him the next morning, his response sent a chill through me.
“How did you sleep?” I kept my voice light.
“Great! Didn’t wake up once.”
He said it so casually, so effortlessly, as if he truly believed it. I studied his face, looking for a crack in the lie, but all I saw was his usual, easygoing smile.
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