Chapter 1
The sound of rain tapping against the large glass windows of their penthouse filled the dimly lit bedroom. It was past midnight, but Freen was still wide awake, lying on her side, watching Becky’s sleeping face. The soft glow from the bedside lamp cast delicate shadows over Becky’s features—her long lashes resting against her cheek, her slightly parted lips, the rise and fall of her chest with every slow, even breath.
Freen reached out, gently tracing a finger down Becky’s arm. The touch was light, barely there, but it sent a familiar warmth through her chest. She always felt like this around Becky—like she was drowning and breathing at the same time. She could spend a lifetime just looking at her, memorizing every inch of her face, but tonight… tonight, there was a weight in her chest that wouldn’t go away.
She knew Becky didn’t love her. She had known from the start.
Becky did everything right. She took care of Freen, made sure she ate, made sure she took breaks from work, even kept their house spotless. She never once denied Freen anything—her touches, her kisses, her body. But she never initiated anything either. Freen had never heard her say I love you first.
Freen swallowed the lump in her throat and let her fingers trail down Becky’s back. Even in her sleep, Becky didn’t flinch, didn’t react—just like always. It was as if she had trained herself to accept Freen’s touch, but never to crave it.
Freen shifted closer, burying her face against Becky’s shoulder.
“Why don’t you love me?” she whispered into the silence, knowing there would be no answer.
Becky stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Freen sighed and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep, but it never came easily on nights like this.
Morning
The scent of fresh coffee filled the kitchen as Becky moved around in her usual routine—pouring Freen’s coffee just the way she liked it, setting a plate of toast and scrambled eggs on the table. The morning sun poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the modern space in warm hues.
Freen entered the kitchen, already dressed in her neatly pressed navy-blue scrubs, her hospital ID clipped to the front pocket. Her dark hair was tied back loosely, strands falling over her forehead. She looked beautiful, effortlessly so, but Becky had long since trained herself not to stare for too long.
“Morning,” Becky greeted, placing Freen’s coffee in front of her.
Freen smiled immediately, stepping forward to press a soft kiss to Becky’s temple. “Morning, baby.”
Becky hummed in response, turning back to grab her own coffee. Freen watched her for a moment before sitting down. She took a sip of her coffee, letting the warmth spread through her.
“You didn’t sleep well,” Becky observed, her voice calm, neutral.
Freen blinked. “How’d you know?”
“You were tossing a lot.”
Freen chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You always notice.”
Becky sat across from her, picking at her toast. “It’s my job to notice.”
There it was again. That word. Job. Duty. Responsibility. It was never just… love.
Freen forced a smile. “Well, I appreciate it.”
Becky nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t warm either. It was simply there, existing in the space between them like an unspoken truth neither of them wanted to acknowledge.
Freen sighed internally and changed the subject. “I have a long shift today. Probably won’t be home until late.”
Becky nodded, unfazed. “I’ll keep your dinner warm.”
Freen reached across the table, taking Becky’s hand in hers. Becky didn’t pull away, didn’t stiffen, didn’t react at all. It was as if she had already accepted that Freen would touch her whenever she pleased.
Freen ran her thumb over Becky’s knuckles. “You’ll wait for me?”
“If you want me to.”
Freen’s heart ached. She didn’t want Becky to wait for her because it was her duty. She wanted Becky to miss her, to long for her, to need her the way Freen needed her. But that wasn’t how their marriage worked.
Freen smiled, leaning forward to kiss Becky’s forehead. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Becky simply nodded, watching as Freen grabbed her coat and left for work.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Becky let out a slow breath. She glanced down at her coffee, watching the steam swirl in lazy patterns.
She was fulfilling her duty.
She was the perfect wife.
So why did it feel like something was missing?
