Chapter Four
The front door clicked open at 2:17 a.m.
Not 2:10 like last week.
Not 2:25 like three nights ago.
No—2:17 on the dot.
Catherine didn’t mean to memorize the times, but they were starting to brand themselves into her brain, like the universe was keeping score for her.
Caleb stepped inside, bringing the storm with him. Rain clung to his hair, dripping onto the hardwood floor, and the scent hit her before his footsteps did—
Not his usual cedarwood.
Not the warm spice she had once loved on his collar.
This was new. Sharper. More expensive. A stranger’s cologne wearing her husband’s skin.
Catherine sat on the edge of the couch, pretending she hadn’t been awake, though the untouched glass of water in her hands betrayed her.
“You’re late,” she said softly.
He didn’t even flinch—just ran a hand through his soaked hair and let out a sigh that suggested she was yet another problem in a long list of them.
“Crisis at work,” he muttered, voice gravelly. “Couldn’t leave.”
She nodded, the way a good wife would. The way she used to. But she wasn’t sure she remembered how to be that anymore.
Caleb kicked off his shoes. They landed with a dull thud, scattered—just like every piece of their marriage lately. He stripped off his wet coat, then headed toward the bathroom without looking at her. No pause. No explanation.
Just like every night.
Shower first.
Avoid eye contact second.
Climb into bed third.
Pretend nothing is wrong fourth.
His new ritual.
Her new nightmare.
Catherine listened as the water turned on, pounding against the tiles hard enough to echo through the walls.
Ten minutes.
Twelve.
Fourteen.
Always between twelve and sixteen minutes. She’d timed it—not on purpose, but because this version of Caleb didn’t leave her many choices. When a man becomes predictable, it’s either comforting or damning.
With Caleb, it was both.
Catherine stood and walked to the bathroom door. Steam curled out from the bottom, carrying that unfamiliar cologne now diluted by soap and hot water.
She pressed her palm to the cold wood.
“Caleb?” she called.
There was a pause. Just long enough to hurt.
Then, “Yeah?” he answered, voice distant—like he was somewhere else entirely.
She swallowed hard. “Is everything… okay?”
Another pause. Longer this time.
Water running.
Her heartbeat racing.
Silence thick enough to choke on.
Finally, he said, “I told you. Work's a mess. I don’t want to talk about it.”
She closed her eyes.
The worst lies were always the ones delivered so calmly. So easily. Like the liar had already rehearsed them in someone else’s bed.
The water shut off.
Catherine stepped back as the door opened and Caleb emerged, towel around his waist, steam clinging to him like a second skin. He didn’t meet her eyes.
He never did anymore.
He walked past her, leaving wet footprints on the floor.
“Come to bed,” he said, emotionless.
She didn’t move.
Because Catherine had finally realized something:
Caleb didn’t only come home late.
He didn’t only smell different.
He wasn’t only distant.
He was disappearing—one rain-soaked night at a time.