The next morning I woke up on the couch with a stiff neck and a heavy feeling in my chest. My body was sore from another night of poor sleep. I went to the kitchen, made coffee, and tried to start the day. The house was quiet. Ryan was still upstairs.
A few minutes later, I heard his footsteps. He came down looking tired, rubbing his head like he had a sharp headache. He joined me in the kitchen without saying good morning.
I poured him a cup of coffee. “Headache?”
He took the cup and nodded. “Yeah. Sharp one.”
We stood there for a moment. The silence felt heavy. Then he looked at me.
“Bella, about last night,” he said. “I don’t want to fight every day. But you need to stop accusing me of things. I was at the office. That’s it.”
I wanted to believe him, but the way he sounded on the
