It didn’t feel right. Lying in bed with her no longer felt familiar. She’d place her hand on his chest. Nothing. His wife would sleep with her head on his shoulder. He stared up at the ceiling. Counting. Thinking. This is over.

And, he wondered if she felt the same. She still kissed him goodbye when he went to work. Made his coffee in the morning. But, she no longer said, I love you. They, no longer said, I love you.

At night time the two would sit and watch TV. Cable news. Depressing stories of how the world was falling apart. All four eyes glued to the television. No one said a word. They ate and watched the news in silence. Even the sound on the television was low. He had control of the remote. He always had.

Around nine o’clock the wife would go into the kitchen to make his lunch for the next day. She sat there looking out the window. In autumn it would be pitch black at that time. She stared into darkness.

He fell asleep in his easy chair. She did not wake him. His snoring rang out through the house. She used to laugh at that. Now she just found it annoying.

She walked down the hall to the bedroom. Passed pictures of them when they were younger. Photographs of her parents and his. Everyone had a beer in their hand. Everyone was smiling. She kept on walking. Brushed her teeth and changed into her nightgown. No longer were they silky and black. She now wore flannel to escape the cold. Even in summer.

Eventually he made his way back to the bedroom. Sat on the edge of the bed. Placed his watch on the nightstand. Got in under the sheets. He did not look at her. This did not feel familiar.

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