Marriage did not change Kaelric Nocturne Virex.
It only gave him a witness.
From the first morning Aurelia woke as his wife, she understood that his absence would become routine.
The other side of the bed was always cold. His schedule was never shared with her, his whereabouts never explained.
When she asked once, only once, he answered without lifting his eyes from his phone.
"You don't need to know."
So she stopped asking.
Days passed, then weeks.
Aurelia learned the rhythm of a marriage that did not include her.
She prepared meals that went untouched. She waited in rooms where silence grew louder as night fell.
Sometimes Kaelric came home smelling of alcohol and unfamiliar perfume.
Other nights, he did not come home at all.
When he did, his words were sharp.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Stop pretending you care."
"This was never real."
Each sentence cut cleanly, leaving no visible wound but a lasting ache.
The first time she saw him with another woman, it was by accident.
Aurelia had been sent to attend a formal gathering on behalf of the family.
She wore a simple dress, nothing extravagant, nothing that would draw attention.
She stood at the edge of the room, fingers wrapped around a glass she did not drink from.
Then she saw him.
Kaelric stood near the bar, laughing.
A sound Aurelia had never heard from him. A woman leaned close to his side, her hand resting familiarly on his arm.
He did not pull away.
Instead, he bent slightly, whispering something that made her smile.
Something inside Aurelia stilled.
This was not anger.
It was understanding.
That night, when they returned home, Aurelia finally spoke.
"You didn't even try to hide it," she said quietly.
Kaelric looked at her, eyes cold.
"I told you from the beginning," he replied. "Don't expect loyalty."
Her hands trembled, but her voice remained steady.
"I am your wife."
"That doesn't mean anything," he snapped. "Not to me."
The argument did not escalate into shouting.
It was worse than that.
It was controlled.
Precise.
Every word chosen to hurt without raising his voice.
"You knew what you were agreeing to," he continued.
"If you're suffering, that's on you."
Aurelia said nothing more.
She went to bed that night and cried silently, face pressed into the pillow so no sound would escape.
The pain was not loud.
It was suffocating.
From then on, Kaelric stopped pretending altogether.
Women called the house looking for him.
He answered openly.
Sometimes he spoke to them in front of Aurelia, voice low and intimate, as if she were invisible.
"You don't need to stand there," he once said without looking at her.
"Go do something useful."
Those words followed her into every room.
Aurelia's health began to fade quietly.
She lost weight.
Her appetite disappeared.
The fatigue settled deep into her bones, but she blamed herself.
I'm just tired, she thought.
Tired people feel like this.
She did not complain.
She did not ask for help.
Pain had become a language she spoke fluently.
At night, when Kaelric was gone, she sat by the window and allowed herself one thing she never did during the day.
She thought.
Why do I still wait for him?
Why do I still hope he will come home early?
She hated herself for it.
One evening, Kaelric returned drunk, anger clinging to him like smoke.
"Why are you still here?" he asked suddenly.
Aurelia looked up from where she sat.
"Because I'm your wife," she answered softly.
He laughed bitterly.
"You're just someone they forced into my life," he said.
"Don't confuse endurance with love."
Those words stayed with her long after he walked away.
That night, Aurelia pressed a hand against her chest, feeling an unfamiliar tightness. Her breathing felt shallow, uneven.
She dismissed it.
It's nothing.
She had learned to call pain by other names.
Aurelia:
If I disappear one day,
I wonder how long it would take for him to notice.
Would the house feel emptier?
Would my absence finally speak louder than my presence ever did?
I am still here,
yet I have never felt so unseen.