I don't sleep the rest of the night. Instead, I curl up on the couch with a cup of tea and try to watch a movie. When I realize it's a romance, I quickly change the channel to some CSI sort of show. I'm not really watching it, but I try to. I try everything in my power to get my mind off of Seth and what he could possibly be doing right now. I refuse to cry anymore. I hate tears and I've had enough to last a lifetime just tonight.

I hear a car pull into the driveway and a cold dread wisps through my chest. It's nearly five-thirty. He's been gone for at least three and a half hours. Lot's can happy in that amount of time. I expect him to walk through the door with a pleasant smile gracing his face, or some kind of glow perking up his handsome features, but he doesn't.

He actually doesn't even enter the house for another fifteen minutes and I'm curious enough to flick off the tv and peer through the curtains. I try not to draw suspicion as I lean forward, pushing the sky-blue material slightly to the side and looking out the small gap.

My stomach sinks at the sight. Instead of anger washing over me, I find pity settling into the empty crevices in my chest that he's created. There he is, sitting in the driver's seat, hands on the steering wheel as he stares unseeingly at the dashboard. I watch as he rubs a hand down his face, shakes his head a few times—as if trying to wake himself up—and then swings his door open.

I hurry back to the couch, not too worried about him finding me up. Maybe he'll even regret getting caught sneaking out. My eyes follow him as he slides his jacket off and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. He looks completely exhausted—which could mean one of two things: our marriage issues are taking just as much of a toll on his sleeping habits as they are on mine, or the woman he was with didn't allow him to get any sleep. I cringe at the possibility of that being the reason for his shadowed eyes and tight shoulders.

It's not until he has kicked off his shoes and turned towards the living room that he spots me. He freezes, a hint of panic flashing through his eyes. Almost just as quickly, the panic has been replaced with weariness. I stare with shock as he sinks down into the couch next to me. It's so unlike him to purposely close the distance between us, but the action instantly wipes away all my suspicions. He sure doesn't act like a guilty man. A guilty man would be slinking around trying to avoid confrontation.

"Couldn't sleep?" I ask simply.

I see him peer at me from my peripheral vision, but don't take my eyes off the blank tv. I don't want to appear like I'm prying. I don't want him to see the doubt in my gaze. He watches me for several seconds before leaning his head back against the couch with a sigh.

"Nope," he says, his voice tired and raspy with sleep.

"Me either."

We stay silent for some time, neither of us wanting to break the blanket of calm that seems to have settled in the room. It's still tense, but the typical suffocating feeling is absent. Strange, considering that just moments ago I was mentally accusing him of adultery.

"Work stressful lately?" I risk asking.

He doesn't answer right away, and I start to wonder if he even will, but then he shifts on the couch, turning towards me slightly.

"Not particularly," he answers.

He's watching me again. I can sense it, and I carefully turn my head to catch his eyes with my own. Neither one of us speaks for a moment and I'm dying to understand what his face is trying to say to me. His expression reveals nothing. Actually, it almost feels like he's looking through me.

"What's wrong?" I ask, courage awakening from a dead sleep. I haven't asked that question in months, but for some reason, at this moment, it feels right.

He just shrugs, as if he's not even sure of how to answer that. He wants to say something, I can see his mind construing how to put his thoughts into words, but then he sighs and turns away from me.

"I'm going to try and get some sleep," he finally says, and I know that's my cue to leave.

I let out a nearly silent, frustrated breath before standing and taking my mug to the kitchen. When I walk past again, he's already gotten himself comfortable on the couch. I'd almost mistake him for being asleep if not for the lack of his deep, steady breathing.

I head back to my room, intent on grabbing a few hours of rest as well, but I know it's pointless. Instead, I just lay there for two hours, until I hear Seth leave for work. Then I'm up again, planning out the next steps in winning back my husband's heart.

—

Days pass without much interaction between us. I try to take my mind off our troubles by calling up my best friend, Shonice, but even she can't fix the holes in my heart. I haven't actually told her the extent of damage that our marriage has suffered, but Shon isn't stupid. She can clearly see I'm a mess, and after fighting to get answers out of me, she eventually stops trying and tells me she'll be over in an hour.

I'm not looking forward to it. If anything, I'm dreading the talk. I want to pretend that life is good, that everything's okay. But it's not, and maybe Shon knows I need to get some things off my chest.

"Hey girl," she greets, a broad smile displaying a mouth of pearly whites that contrast perfectly with her dark skin.

She's one of those tall, smooth-skinned beauties that spends the majority of her time in sweat pants and oversized sweaters. Some of her more unladylike habits remind me of my somewhat younger self. I used to not care about my appearance. I was relaxed—goofy even. Maybe that's why Seth can't stand me anymore... I've lost that spark.

She bumps my shoulder playfully as she slips through the door, and I close it behind her before turning to eye her grocery bag of goodies. She's got an entire sack of potato chips, red bull, Pringles, beef jerky, and mixed nuts.

My old roommate used to think I had a sweet tooth that matched her own. Little did she know that my box of sweets was only a decoy to keep her out of the real goldmine. See, I prefer to drown my sorrows with a beer and a bag of Doritos, not perk myself up with a sugar high. The only person who knows that secret is my husband and my weirdo of a best friend standing in front of me.

I snag a bag of Cheetos and throw myself on the couch, not bothering to hide my dramatic show of misery. She plops down beside me, shoving my legs to the floor to make room for her bootylicious self. I'm not being gross by saying that—just honest. She's got curves in all the right places. It's fact.

"What's wrong, Sugar Plum?" she asks, her face hiding any sign of amusement.

"What makes you ask, Muffin Cheeks?" I respond. I'm avoiding eye contact because if I see the look on her face right now, I know I'll laugh, and I'm not in the mood to laugh.

"Ew," she groans, sitting up and shooting a look of disgust in my direction. She doesn't pull it off very well though, seeing as how a betraying smile decides it can't stay hidden. "Don't call me that."

I only shrug, a sly smirk touching my lips.

"Well," she huffs, crisscrossing her legs on the couch, "tell me what's up."

I decide not to beat around the bush. She's not a stupid person, so there's no need in hiding anything from her. And as much as I don't condone gossip, I really need someone to talk to.

"He wants a divorce."

She's off the couch in less than a millisecond, pacing the area beside the coffee table. "He what?" she spits out, aghast. "He actually said that?"

"No," I tell her, and I see her shoulders relax briefly until my next sentence leaves my lips. "But I found the papers."

"I'm gonna kill him!" she nearly shrieks, and I feel the sudden need to pull her back down to sitting, hoping that will reign her anger back in as well. It doesn't. "You're the most beautiful, perfect human on the planet, and he wants to lose that! He's an idiot."

"Okay, Shon," I coax, shoving her shoulder slightly. "Shut up. Now you're being the idiot." I smile. "I appreciate how protective you are of me, but I don't need it. I don't want you to hate him. I just need someone to talk to. I need you to help me figure out the problems so that I can fix them."

She sighs after a moment. The truth is, she's known the guy longer than I have. They practically grew up together. He was known as the nice guy, the genuinely good person, and she knew that. I needed her to remember that if she was going to be of any help. If she started trying to convince me he was a jerk, then eventually I might start believing it, and that was the last thing I wanted.

I know people can't really change their personalities that drastically. Either he's a good guy going through a difficult time, or he's a psycho who's been hiding his true identity behind a mask of perfection. If he's truly this cold, unloving person that he keeps trying to prove to me that he is, then I would have discovered that long ago, right? My belief is that there's something going on with him that's dimming the light of his normally bright character.

And I'm nearly positive that something is me.