Chapter 7 007. Behind His Eyes

The rain hit our window that night like it had something to say. I laid on my side of the bed, facing the wall, but I wasn't asleep. Not even close. My eyes were open, staring at nothing in the dark, listening to Harryson's breathing.

It wasn't loud, but it didn't sound like it used to. It was steady, too steady-like someone pretending to be asleep. And maybe that's what got to me. Or maybe it was just me. Maybe I was the one who had changed. Still, something about him... didn't feel real.

I rolled over slowly and turned to face him.

He was lying on his back, lips slightly parted, his chest rising and falling in rhythm. His hand was resting near his side, fingers curled just a little. He looked peaceful, but not like before. Before, he used to sleep with his hand touching mine, like even in sleep he needed to know I was close.

Not anymore.

His body was inches away, but he felt like a mile.

My eyes traveled to his face. I studied the curve of his jaw, the way the light from the streetlamp outside hit his cheekbone. He looked the same. Same thick lashes. Same small scar above his brow from when he hit his head on the kitchen cabinet last Christmas. Same warm skin.

But he wasn't the same. I didn't care what anyone said.

This was my husband... but also, not.

"Harry," I whispered. Just to see if he'd stir.

He didn't move. Not a flinch.

So I whispered again, a little louder. "Harry."

And then, his eyes opened.

My heart skipped. Not because he scared me, but because... the way he looked at me felt off. His eyes locked on mine instantly. Wide open. Alert.

Like he hadn't just woken up.

Like he'd been waiting.

For what, I didn't know.

He didn't say anything. Just stared at me.

I smiled nervously. "You okay?"

He blinked once. Slowly. Then said, "Yeah. Just... having a dream."

"About what?" I asked softly.

He paused. "You."

A part of me warmed at that, but the rest of me... stayed cold.

"What kind of dream?" I asked, forcing a small laugh.

He looked away, toward the ceiling. "I don't remember now. Just saw you in it."

I tried to play along. "Well, was I nice in the dream at least?"

He turned his head slowly back to face me, then gave the faintest smile. "You were perfect."

But it didn't feel like a compliment.

It felt like... a script.

I swallowed. "Can't sleep?"

"I was asleep," he said calmly. "You woke me."

I nodded, guilt seeping in, even though I'd barely said his name. "Sorry. Just... wanted to check on you."

He didn't say anything for a while. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, "Why do you keep checking on me, Leona?"

I stiffened.

"I mean," he continued, his tone still soft, "I've told you I'm okay. The accident didn't kill me. I'm healing. You don't have to watch me like I'm going to break."

I wanted to tell him the truth. That I didn't think he was going to break-I thought he already had. That I was watching him because he didn't feel like the man I married. That every time he looked at me, it was like someone was inside his body, wearing his face, learning how to be Harryson.

But I didn't say any of that.

Instead, I whispered, "I'm just scared."

He frowned. "Of what?"

"That something's still wrong."

He looked at me for a moment, like he was trying to decide what to say. Then he reached out and touched my cheek. His fingers were warm, but the touch didn't melt me like it used to. It didn't feel like home. It felt... rehearsed.

"I'm still me," he said, voice low. "You just need to give me time."

I nodded, eyes burning. "I know."

But I didn't know anything anymore.

I watched him close his eyes again, as if the conversation never happened. He didn't roll over to hold me. He didn't whisper that he loved me or tell me everything would be fine.

He just turned his face toward the window and let the rain do all the talking.

-

The next morning, he acted like everything was fine.

He cooked breakfast-eggs and toast-and even brought it to the table before I was done brushing my hair. He smiled at me when I came in, his shirt tucked in, face shaved, like we were in some cheesy morning commercial.

But it didn't fool me.

"Sleep okay?" he asked, pouring me coffee.

"Yeah," I lied. "You?"

"Best I've had in weeks."

I stared at him. "You don't remember waking up?"

He looked at me, confused. "Waking up? No."

"You looked at me last night," I said carefully. "We talked."

He shook his head, slow and casual. "Don't remember that. Are you sure you didn't dream it?"

I blinked. "No. I'm sure."

"Must've been sleep talking," he said with a shrug, then went back to buttering his toast.

But I knew what I saw. I wasn't dreaming. He looked at me like he didn't trust me-or maybe like he knew something I didn't.

I watched him eat. The way he held his fork, the way he chewed, even the way he swallowed-it was all Harryson. But the energy... wasn't.

He looked up suddenly, catching me staring.

"What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing," I muttered, looking away. "Just thinking."

He leaned back in his chair. "You sure you're okay? You've been quiet lately."

I forced a smile. "Just tired. Been working a lot."

He nodded slowly, but kept his eyes on me like he was trying to read something beneath the surface.

I wondered then... was he watching me the way I'd been watching him?

I excused myself and went to the bedroom. Closed the door. Stood there, just breathing. Trying not to cry.

I didn't know what was happening.

All I knew was the man who had come back to me... wasn't the same man who'd left.

-

That night, I tried to act normal. We watched a movie. I laughed at the funny parts. He leaned on me once or twice and I let him. But I kept looking at his face during the film.

He didn't react to anything. Not even the parts he used to love. He just stared at the screen like he was analyzing it, not enjoying it.

When the movie ended, he said he was going to bed early. I stayed back a while, pretending to scroll on my phone.

When I finally crept into the room, he was already asleep-or pretending again.

This time, I didn't call his name.

I just stood at the doorway... watching him.

And I couldn't help but think...

Where had my Harryson gone?

And who was this man left behind?