Chapter 7 °°

The scent of rosemary and garlic hit me the moment I opened the front door. Warm. Familiar. But somehow, it still didn't feel like home.

I shut the door behind me and kicked off my heels, my feet aching from a long day at the clinic. It had been a good day, surprisingly. One of my teenage clients had opened up for the first time in weeks. Another finally smiled. It felt like progress-like I was doing something right, at least somewhere.

I stepped into the dining room, and there he was-Laurel.

Sitting at the far end of the table, like always. Black shirt slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled like he'd run a frustrated hand through it. He didn't look up when I walked in. Just lifted his glass, took a sip, and nodded. Not a word. Not a glance.

Typical.

I sat down across from him. The table between us felt more like a wall than anything else. Dinner was already served-neat portions, clearly not his doing. Probably the housekeeper. Laurel didn't strike me as the kind of man who'd set a table for two. Honestly, I was still shocked he even sat down to eat with me.

We ate in silence.

Not the comfortable kind, either. Every sound felt loud-the clink of my fork, the scratch of my chair as I shifted. I tried not to look at him too much, but my eyes kept wandering back. He didn't look angry. Just... blank. Like being here was an obligation, not a choice.

And still, part of me clung to this tiny hope.

This morning, he'd asked me how I slept. Just that. No deep conversation, no softness in his voice. But still, it was something. A sliver of humanity from a man who usually acted like I didn't exist unless absolutely necessary.

I cleared my throat. "Um... dinner's really good."

He nodded. "It's fine."

That was it. No smile. No thank you. No effort. Just that dull, empty tone he always used with me. Like I was a colleague in a meeting. Or worse-some stranger in his house.

I looked down at my plate, pushing the food around with my fork. I had actually thought we were making progress

.

But clearly... I'd imagined it.

I couldn't sleep.

Again.

I lay there in the huge, cold bed, eyes tracing the patterns on the ceiling I had already memorized. The sheets smelled like lavender, and the air conditioning hummed quietly above me. Everything around me was calm. But inside-I was anything but.

It was strange... how two people could live under the same roof, eat at the same table, sleep in rooms just across the hallway, and still feel like complete strangers.

I turned to the side and stared at the wall. My thoughts were loud. They always were at night.

I thought being married would feel different. I didn't expect fireworks, or grand gestures, or even affection... but I thought maybe, at the very least, I'd feel seen. That maybe, eventually, we'd talk like humans. Like people who were building a life. But instead, Laurel barely acknowledged me. He gave me nothing-just the bare minimum to say he wasn't being cruel.

And somehow... that made it worse.

I sighed, finally tossing the sheets off and grabbing my robe. A glass of water might help. Or at least give me something to do besides lie here thinking about a man who didn't think about me.

Padding down the hallway, I reached the kitchen and turned on the dim light above the sink. I grabbed a glass and filled it halfway, sipping slowly, letting the cool water ground me.

Then I heard footsteps.

I turned-and there he was.

Laurel.

Shirtless, in grey sweatpants, his hair slightly messy. For a second, I forgot how to breathe. I hadn't seen him like this before-not outside a suit, not without the shield of cold professionalism he wore like armour.

His eyes flicked to mine. "Couldn't sleep?"

I nodded. "You too?"

He shrugged, walking past me to the fridge. "Late meetings. Head won't shut off."

It was the most words he'd said to me all day.

I gave a small, almost pathetic smile. "Therapist trick: try counting backwards from a hundred. Works for some people."

He didn't smile back, but something in his eyes shifted-just a little. Like he was actually listening.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, pulling out a bottle of water.

The silence that followed wasn't heavy this time. Just... still.

I placed my empty glass in the sink. "Well... goodnight."

As I turned to leave, his voice stopped me.

"Alora."

I froze. He rarely said my name.

I looked over my shoulder. "Yeah?"

He looked at me for a moment. Not cold. Not distant. Just quiet. Searching.

"...Thanks."

I didn't know what he was thanking me for. The water? The suggestion? The fact that I hadn't pushed?

But I nodded anyway. "Anytime."

Then I walked away.

And for the first time since I moved into this house, I went to bed with something more than silence clinging to me

.

I went to bed with hope.