She’s already looking at apartments. I saw the tab open on her laptop. And honestly… I can’t even blame her.

She’s already looking at apartments. I saw the tab open on her laptop. And honestly… I can’t even blame her.

Tonight the place feels like two strangers living side by side. She’s in the kitchen wiping down the counter, lining up the mugs for tomorrow. There’s a packed lunch sitting in the fridge with my name on it, the trash already tied by the door. She’s still doing everything, but without a word. I almost just grab my bag, mumble goodnight, and let the silence swallow us again. That’s the version of the future where she finds a new place, and I tell myself I never saw it coming. But I stop. I see the clean counter, the packed lunch, the trash I didn’t touch. I feel this ache in my chest and I finally say, ‘Hey… thank you for keeping this together. The lunch, the kitchen, all of it. I see it.’ She freezes, cloth still in her hand, then lets out a breath like she’s been holding it for months. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t shut me out either. And that’s enough to shift something. I use an app called ‘quiet effort.’ It keeps me from living the version of us where she leaves because I never noticed her.