Naomi and Zylan sat at the dining table, breakfast already served. Naomi picked up her toasted French bread, biting into it slowly as her thoughts raced. She kept her gaze fixed on her plate, her grip on the fork tightening ever so slightly.
This time, she resolved, she needed to respect him—his space, his silence, his decisions. No matter what happened, she would hold her curiosity in check. They weren't married out of love; this was something she had to remind herself of repeatedly. The sooner she accepted it, the better for both of them.
The air between them was calm but heavy with unspoken tension. Naomi sensed Zylan wasn't ready to share anything personal with her, and forcing him to talk would only widen the gap between them. This wasn't what she wanted. What she wanted—no, needed—was to respect their boundaries, just as he respected hers. And yet, even as she told herself this, the silence gnawed at her.
