The worst part wasn't the calls.
It wasn't the food.
It wasn't even the messages.
The worst part was that James stopped telling me things.
There was a time when I knew almost everything that happened in his day.
If someone annoyed him, I knew.
If a student made him laugh, I knew.
If a teacher said something funny, I knew.
If Alberta called him repeatedly, I knew.
But now, I had to discover things through silence.
And silence has a way of making the imagination cruel.
One evening, I sat beside him while he used his phone.
A message came in.
He read it.
Then he locked the screen.
I watched him.
"Who was that?"
"Someone."
I almost laughed.
"Someone again?"
He looked at me.
"What do you want me to say?"
"The truth."
"It was nothing."
I shook my head.
"That's what you always say now."
He didn't respond.
I felt tears building in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
"James."
"Yes?"
"Do you realize you've changed?"
He looked at me.
"I haven't."
"You have."
"How?"
"You hide things."
"I don't hide anything."
"You used to tell me everything."
"I still do."
"No."
My voice cracked.
"No, you don't."
He stared at me.
I continued.
"You don't tell me what Alberta says anymore."
"Because it's not important."
"You don't tell me when she calls."
"Because there's nothing to tell."
"You don't tell me when she brings food."
"She doesn't do it every day."
"But you still don't tell me."
He became quiet.
I wiped my eyes.
"I asked you to block her."
"I told you why I couldn't."
"You could."
"I don't want problems at work."
"And what about problems at home?"
He looked at me.
I continued.
"What about what this is doing to us?"
He sighed.
"You're making it bigger than it is."
"Maybe."
I looked at him.
"Then make me feel like I'm wrong."
He said nothing.
That silence broke something in me.
I had spent so much time trying to convince myself that I was imagining things.
But I wasn't imagining the distance.
I wasn't imagining the secrecy.
I wasn't imagining the change.
Something had changed.
Whether it was Alberta.
Whether it was work.
Whether it was James himself.
Something had changed.
And I was terrified.
Not because I had proof of betrayal.
I didn't.
But because I had learned that relationships don't always collapse with one dramatic moment.
Sometimes they disappear slowly.
A conversation becomes shorter.
A visit becomes later.
A message becomes hidden.
A name becomes difficult to mention.
A person becomes emotionally unavailable.
And one day, you wake up and realize the person beside you feels like a stranger.
I didn't want that to happen to us.
So I asked him one final question.
"Are you happy with me?"
He looked surprised.
"Why would you ask that?"
"Just answer."
"Yes."
"Then why do I feel like I'm losing your attention?"
He took a long breath.
"I don't know."
That answer hurt more than I expected.
He didn't know.
Maybe he really didn't.
Or maybe he didn't want to tell me.
I turned away.
I didn't want to argue.
I didn't want to beg.
I didn't want to fight another woman for the attention of the man I loved.
If he wanted me, I wanted him to choose me freely.
Not because I demanded it.
Not because I monitored him.
Not because I threatened to leave.
Because he wanted to.
I remembered the early days.
The way he used to look for me.
The way he used to tell me everything.
The way we could sit together and talk for hours.
Where had that gone?
I didn't know.
And perhaps that was what frightened me most.
I wasn't only afraid of Alberta.
I was afraid of what was happening inside James.
Because another person cannot take your place unless the person you love gives them space to occupy it.
That thought stayed with me.
I went to bed that night with my back turned toward him.
He didn't say much.
Neither did I.
The room was quiet.
But my mind was screaming.
I thought about everything that had happened.
The romantic letter from the student.
The confrontation with her parents.
The slaps.
The rumors.
The principal's office.
The neighbor's testimony.
Then Alberta.
The calls.
The texts.
The food.
The late evenings.
The excursion.
Her anger when James chose to spend time with me.
And now the secrecy.
It felt like one storm had barely passed before another began forming.
I closed my eyes.
I wanted to believe that James was still the man I knew.
I wanted to believe that nothing serious was happening.
But I couldn't ignore the changes anymore.
Something was happening.
I just didn't know what.
And the uncertainty was slowly consuming me.
I made a decision that night.
I would not chase.
I would not beg.
I would not compete.
I would watch.
I would listen.
And I would let his actions tell me what his words refused to say.
Because sometimes, when someone stops telling you the truth…
their behavior starts telling the story for them.
And I was afraid of what James's story was becoming.