The clock struck midnight as Elena sat at the kitchen table, the cold wood pressing against her palms. In the silent house, every creak felt like a question. She had been married to Julian for seven years, and for seven years, she had perfected the role of the "perfect wife."
To the outside world, the title of "wife" was a label, a legal status, or perhaps a set of expectations. But inside these walls, Version 1145 of this life was something much more fluid. It was the silent language of knowing exactly how he liked his tea without asking, and the way he instinctively reached for her hand when the thunder rolled a little too loud.
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