When something starts to break, it doesn't always shatter right away. Sometimes, it begins with small fractures and hairline that cracks in the quiet places.
The morning after the rain, I woke to the smell of coffee and the faint hum of the city outside the apartment. Daniel was already dressed, standing by the kitchen counter, his sleeves rolled up. Hid phone was pressed to his ear. He looked like he always did. A man who never falter. But when he turned and saw me standing there, something in his expression shifted. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Morning," he said lightly, ending his call. "You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep," I murmured.
He raised a brow. "Again?"
I nodded, pretending to yawn. "Must be the nerves and wedding blues"
He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. "You've been saying that a lot lately."
"Because it's true."
"Is it?"
The question caught me off guard. "What do you mean?"
He hesitated, his gaze steady. "I mean, you've been distant, Lia. I'm not sure if it's stress or something else."
Something else.
The words felt heavier than they should have.
I forced a small laugh. "You're overthinking. I'm fine."
He didn't laugh. He just kept looking at me, the way people do when they already know the truth but are waiting for you to say it first.
"Did you see him last night?" he asked suddenly.
My heart stopped. "What?"
"Eli."
The way he said the name made my pulse race.
"Why would you think that?"
He shrugged, but his voice stayed calm. "Because I called you twice last night. You didn't answer."
"I went for a drive."
"In the rain?"
I swallowed. "I needed air."
He studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You know, Lia, I trust you. But I also know when something's changing."
"Nothing's changing."
He smiled faintly, but it wasn't his usual charming one. It's the kind of smile that hides a wound. "Then tell me that you haven't thought about him since he came back."
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
He didn't need me to answer. Silence has always been its own confession.
We went through the day pretending everything was fine.
All the motions of a couple preparing for their wedding except for the part where I was still thinking about another man's hands on a piano, and the sound of his voice saying my name like it still mattered.
By afternoon, I was at the venue again. Eli wasn't there when I arrived, but his things were spread across the table. He always worked late, long after everyone else left.
The staff greeted me politely. Someone asked about the floral budget, and I nodded distractedly, my attention pulled toward that empty chair.
When he finally walked in, his hair slightly damp from the rain outside, he froze for a second when he saw me.
"You shouldn't be here," he said softly.
I smiled faintly. "You always say that."
He sighed. "Then maybe you should listen."
But there was no real anger in his voice just weariness, that comes from trying not to want something you've already lost.
"I didn't come to talk about… that," I said. "I came for updates."
He nodded slowly, moving to gather his notes. "Right. The updates."
But as he handed me the file, his fingers brushed mine.
He noticed. Of course he did.
"Lia," he murmured, "you don't have to pretend."
"I'm not pretending."
He gave a small, sad smile. "Then tell me this doesn't feel like the hardest thing you've ever done."
I looked at him, my throat tightening. "You think this is easy for me?"
"No," he said quietly. "But I think you've gotten too good at making hard things look easy."
The words cut deeper than I expected.
That night, Daniel and I had dinner with my family. My brother, Matteo, was his usual loud, teasing self. He is the kind of person who could fill any silence. I used to find comfort in that. But tonight, every joke, every laugh, felt like a cover for something else.
Eli's name never came up, but I could feel it lingering in the air — an invisible line that ran between us, threading through every small moment I was trying not to ruin.
After dinner, Daniel and Matteo talked about business while I cleared the table. My mother gave me a gentle look as she helped me with the plates.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
"Yeah," I lied.
She smiled, but her eyes lingered on mine longer than usual. "You've always been a good liar when it comes to love."
I froze. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She just shrugged. "You can fool everyone, Lia. Except yourself."
By the time Daniel and I got home, the air between us felt stretched too thin.
He loosened his tie, setting his phone on the counter. "You didn't talk much tonight."
"I wasn't in the mood."
"For what? Being happy?"
I turned to him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It means you've been somewhere else lately. You sit next to me, but you're not really here."
I crossed my arms. "You're overreacting."
"I'm not overreacting." His voice rose slightly, enough to make me flinch. "I'm trying to understand if I'm marrying someone who still loves another man."
The room went still.
My chest ached. "That's not fair."
He took a step closer, his jaw tight. "Then tell me I'm wrong."
I opened my mouth, but again, there was silence.
He exhaled slowly, almost like he was trying not to break something. "You know, I used to think Eli was just a story. A name you left behind. But he's still there, isn't he? Every time you drift off, every time you pull away — it's him."
Tears stung my eyes. "Daniel, please—"
"Does he make you feel something I can't?"
The question came out quieter than I expected — almost broken.
I didn't answer. Maybe because I didn't know how to without hurting him.
"Right," he said finally, nodding. "That's all I needed to know."
He turned away, walking to the balcony, his silhouette framed against the city lights.
And that's when I saw it — his phone lighting up on the counter.
A message.
A woman's name I didn't recognize.
The kind of message that doesn't belong in a man's phone if he's faithful.
Can't stop thinking about last night.
My pulse roared in my ears.
For a second, I couldn't breathe.
I looked at him standing there and suddenly everything made sense. The late calls, the detached affection, the way he'd accused me so easily of feeling something for Eli.
Because guilt always recognizes itself.
I whispered, "Who is she?"
He turned, his face unreadable.
"Don't." My voice shook. "Who is she?"
He hesitated, and that hesitation was my answer. The world tilted slightly beneath me. "All this time…"
He stepped forward. "It wasn't like that."
"Then what was it?"
He ran a hand down his face, his composure finally slipping. "It was a mistake."
I laughed bitterly. "Mistakes don't text back."
He didn't deny it.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the hum of the city outside, the distant wail of traffic.
Finally, I said, "You know what's funny? I spent weeks feeling guilty for loving someone I shouldn't. But at least I never lied about it."
"Love..."
"No." I shook my head. "You don't get to call me that anymore."
He looked away. "So what now?"
I felt strangely calm. "The wedding's still two weeks away."
He frowned. "You're not calling it off?"
"Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to make another decision out of hurt." I met his eyes, steady this time. "But I do know this. I'm done pretending we're happy."
He didn't stop me when I walked past him.
Outside, the city smelled like rain again. The air was cool against my skin as I walked toward my car, my heart pounding but lighter than it had been in months.
For the first time, I didn't feel like I was running away.
I felt like I was walking toward something.
Maybe toward the truth.
Maybe toward him.
As I started the car, my phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.
I didn't need to open it to know who it was from.
You don't have to say anything. Just drive safe. — E
And for the first time in a long time, I smiled.
Because maybe this wasn't just the fracture. Maybe it was the beginning of something breaking open, so that something real could finally begin.