Chapter 9 009. Stillness in the Air

Leona

The evening started like any other.

The TV hummed softly in the background as I folded laundry in the living room. The smell of leftover pasta still lingered in the air, warm and comforting. For a moment, things almost felt normal. Almost. But that word had started to wear me down lately.

Harryson had eaten quietly, offered a small smile, and kissed my cheek before slipping into the study. It had become a pattern-him disappearing into that room after dinner and staying there longer than he used to. At first, I thought it was work. Then maybe stress. Now... I wasn't sure anymore.

I finished folding the last pair of socks and placed the laundry basket on the floor. The TV flickered with some crime show, and I tried to watch it, tried to pretend like I was fine. But my eyes kept drifting toward the hallway. Toward the study. He'd been in there for nearly an hour. No sounds. No typing. No flipping pages. Just... silence.

I got up, more restless than curious, and padded barefoot down the hall. I paused outside the door. It was open just a crack. I peered inside.

There he was-sitting in the armchair by the window, his body completely still. His back was straight, his hands resting on the armrests. He wasn't holding a book. He wasn't using his phone. He was just... staring.

At the wall.

My stomach tightened.

"Harryson?" I said softly.

No response.

I pushed the door open wider. "Babe?"

He blinked, slowly, and turned his head toward me like I had interrupted something important. But there was nothing in that room. Nothing but him, the chair, and the stillness hanging in the air like fog.

His eyes met mine, and he smiled. That same soft, polite smile he'd been giving me since he came home from the hospital.

"Just thinking," he said.

I tried to smile back, but it didn't quite reach my eyes. "About what?"

"Nothing in particular," he said, turning back toward the wall. "Just needed a moment."

I stood there for a second, unsure of what to say. My hands fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. "You've been in here a while."

He nodded like it didn't matter. "Time got away from me."

I stepped inside, slowly, like I was walking into the cold. "Are you sure you're okay?"

He looked at me again-really looked-and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Like he wasn't just seeing me, but studying me. Like I was a puzzle he hadn't solved yet.

Then, just like that, the look was gone.

"I'm fine, Leona," he said, his voice gentle but firm.

I forced myself to nod and left the room, heart pounding in my chest.

---

I couldn't sleep that night.

Harryson climbed into bed beside me like he always did. He turned off the light. Pulled the blanket up. Kissed my forehead.

But when I closed my eyes, I felt his stare.

I opened them and looked over. His face was turned toward me, his eyes wide open in the dark. Just watching.

"Can't sleep?" I whispered.

He didn't answer right away. His lips parted, then closed again. Finally, he said, "Just thinking."

Again with the thinking.

I turned onto my side, facing away from him, pretending to settle. But every hair on my body stood on end. His gaze felt heavy, like it was pressing into my back.

After what felt like forever, I heard his breathing slow and deepen. I waited until I was sure he was asleep. Then I turned to look at him.

The moonlight streamed through the window, casting a pale glow across his face. He looked peaceful. Too peaceful. Like he wasn't even real. Like a mask had settled over his features while he slept.

I reached out, gently, brushing my fingers against his arm. Warm. Solid. Familiar.

And yet...

I whispered his name under my breath, so low it almost didn't make a sound. "Harryson."

Nothing. No twitch. No stir. Just sleep.

But that unease? It didn't go away. Not even a little.

---

The next morning was quiet.

He made breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast. The eggs were overcooked. Burnt, really. And he forgot to put salt in them.

I didn't say anything. Just ate a few bites and forced a smile.

"You okay?" he asked, sipping his black coffee.

I nodded too fast. "Yeah. Just tired."

"Me too," he said. "Didn't sleep much."

I stared at him. "Yeah... me neither."

He gave me a strange look, like he was trying to figure out what I meant by that. But he didn't say anything else.

---

Later, when he left for work, I walked into the study.

I stood in the spot where he had sat the night before, looking at the blank wall.

There was nothing there. No picture. No note. No strange mark. Just empty paint and silence.

I sat in the chair, trying to see what he saw. Trying to feel what he felt.

But all I got was a chill down my spine.

---

I told myself I was being paranoid. That people act different after trauma. That memory loss could mess with a person's mind.

But the truth? It wasn't just that he was different.

It was that sometimes, it didn't feel like him at all.

Like the man who came back to me wasn't the man I married-but someone wearing his face. Someone who knew all the right words, all the right moves, but none of the heart behind them.

And last night... when he stared at me... I wasn't sure he recognized me either.

---

That evening, I lit a candle in the living room and curled up with a blanket, trying to read. My eyes skimmed the same sentence five times. I couldn't focus. I couldn't even remember what the book was about.

Harryson came home, set his keys on the counter, and looked at me. Just looked.

"How was your day?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Same old."

He nodded. "Mine too."

Another silence.

Then he said, "I might work late tomorrow. Got a client who wants a deep dive on something."

"Okay," I said. "Just... don't push yourself too hard."

He smiled, and it almost felt real. Almost.

"I won't," he said.

Then he kissed my forehead and went into the study.

I didn't follow.

I stayed curled up on the couch, the candle flickering beside me. Listening to the silence. Feeling that same stillness in the air creep back in.

And I thought about something his doctor had said.

Watch for the quiet moments. The ones where he seems still but isn't resting. Where he seems present, but his mind is somewhere else.

I was watching now.

And I wasn't sure what scared me more-the man I saw, or the man I didn't see behind his eyes.