Current

The cable died at 11:47 PM, taking with it the noise that had been filling the space between them for months. Elena sat up in bed, the blue light flickering and vanishing, leaving them in darkness punctuated by lightning through the sheer curtains.

"You're doing it again," Marcus said, not turning toward her.

"Doing what?"

"Spying. Checking my phone when you think I'm asleep."

Elena's heart hammered against her ribs. Outside, another fork of lightning splintered the sky, illuminating his profile—the same profile she'd fallen in love with seven years ago, now hardened by something she couldn't name.

"I'm worried about you," she whispered. "You come home at 3 AM, Marcus. You smell like her perfume."

"So you went through my messages."

"I didn't have to. They pop up on your lock screen."

He sat up then, the bedframe creaking. "You think you're so clever. Playing detective while our marriage rots."

"I'm not playing anything."

"You've been watching me for weeks, El. Waiting for me to slip up. That's not love. That's surveillance."

Outside, thunder rattled the windowpanes. The storm was moving closer, mirroring the violence inside the room.

"You used to tell me everything," she said, her voice breaking. "Now you guard your phone like it holds state secrets. What am I supposed to do?"

"Trust me."

"I did," she said. "For years. But trust is like a cable—it only works if both ends are connected."

He stared at her for a long moment. Lightning flashed again, revealing something in his expression she hadn't seen before: not guilt, but exhaustion.

"I'm not having an affair," he said softly. "I've been picking up extra shifts. Her birthday is next month. I'm building her the treehouse she asked for three years ago."

Elena's breath caught. "For... for Sarah?"

"She'll be twelve, El. She stopped asking. That broke something in me."

"But the perfume—"

"Lavender oil. For the wood. It soaks in, makes it weather-resistant."

The room went silent except for the rain against the glass. Elena reached across the darkness, her fingers finding his hand. They stayed like that as the storm passed, not speaking, not needing to—the cable still out, but the connection finally restored.