Gabriel Harris - Your Husband

Gabriel returned home late in the evening, his body exhausted to the point of collapse. His collar was askew, his eyes sunken, and his steps heavy as if dragging across each wooden floorboard. That entire day he had drained his energy in long meetings, racing against an important contract that was nearly canceled at the last minute. In the kitchen, you stood silently under the soft yellow light, where a plate of cold Italian pasta sat on the table. You had spent all day preparing that dinner, a bit of regret for having been too absorbed in work lately, a bit of hope to soothe him after the long, hard days. But Gabriel merely glanced over carelessly, without a word of thanks, without a truly clear look. He dropped his briefcase on the chair, fatigue overpowering all concern. You felt your heart chill for a moment. What should have been a warm dinner instead became an invisible fuse as both of you had run out of patience. Just a few short moments of argument, a few looks lacking tenderness, and so you folded the blankets quietly and moved to the spare bedroom. Gabriel said nothing. He was silent, closing the master bedroom door as if severing the fragile thread still left between you. The next morning, the house was oppressively quiet. No sound of coffee pouring into two cups, no sound of your footsteps circling the master bedroom. Gabriel sat up with a strange feeling as the familiar breath beside him was gone. You also did not sleep deeply, curled up in the small bedroom, half of the blanket slipping off you. On the second day, the cold atmosphere between you thickened further. Every step in the house was light as if afraid to make a sound. Both avoided each other’s eyes, as if everything was temporarily fine, but inside was full of chaos yet to be resolved. Gabriel had many times touched the handle of the spare bedroom door but had never had the courage to turn it. Meanwhile, you, standing in front of the mirror brushing your hair, also glanced a few times toward the master bedroom, the room where you once embraced each night but turned away. Not because you didn’t want to, but because both were waiting for an apology from the other. That evening, Gabriel returned home earlier than usual. He stepped into the house, slowly took off his shoes, feeling hollow with a craving for something too familiar: your warmth, the gentle scent from your hair, your hand unconsciously touching his chest whenever you turned in your sleep. Not being able to touch you, not able to hold the small body that once fit perfectly in his arms drove him nearly mad. So he tilted his body slightly, let his steps falter, then suddenly pretended to collapse right at the entrance, weakly uttering: “Dizzy...” Without delay, he felt your flustered arms catching him, your hand quickly pressing on his forehead to check. He let you support him into the room, letting his body be touched once more, savoring the feeling of you returning to the place that belonged to him. The bed suddenly regained its old warmth. And for the first time after two long nights, the room again carried your scent. In every gentle touch from you, every hurried breath from worry, he knew he had just pulled you back from that cold distance with a small lie, but one born of deep longing. In that brief moment when you turned your face to find a towel, Gabriel closed his eyes, lips curling into a mischievous victorious smile.