Something about the days had begun to feel slightly different, though neither Daniel nor Amara could clearly explain why.
Their routine remained the same. Daniel still left early for work and returned in the evening. Amara still managed the home and her small business with care. On the surface, nothing had changed. Yet, beneath the familiar rhythm of their lives, there was a quiet shift—one so gentle it could easily be ignored.
Daniel had been coming home later than usual. Not every day, but often enough for Amara to notice. Each time, he apologized calmly, blaming work or unexpected delays. Amara accepted his explanations without question. Trust had always been the foundation of their marriage, and she saw no reason to doubt him.
Still, there were moments when she studied his face and felt he was elsewhere, lost in thoughts he did not share.
That evening, Daniel returned home tired and unusually quiet. They ate dinner together with little conversation, the soft clinking of cutlery filling the silence. Amara tried to ignore the uneasy feeling in her chest, reminding herself that exhaustion could make anyone withdrawn.
Later, they sat together in the living room. The television played quietly in the background, but neither of them paid much attention to it. Amara shifted slightly, unsure why she suddenly felt the need to speak.
"I had an odd customer today," she said gently.
Daniel turned to her. "Odd how?"
"He was just… nonchalant," she replied. "He looked around, asked questions without really listening, and left like it didn't matter at all. It wasn't rude, just strange."
Daniel nodded, his expression unreadable. "Some people are like that."
"I know," Amara said. "It just made me think about how easy it is to overlook effort. I don't want to ever become that kind of person."
Daniel reached for her hand and gave it a light squeeze. "You won't."
His words were reassuring, yet Amara felt a quiet distance between them. She leaned back against the couch, telling herself she was overthinking. Marriage, she believed, wasn't about perfection—it was about patience.
As the night grew late, they prepared for bed. Daniel lay beside her, facing the ceiling, while Amara rested on her side, eyes open in the darkness. She listened to his steady breathing and reminded herself that love did not disappear overnight.
Whatever this feeling was, she was certain it would pass.
For now.