A slow, painful slide into the emptiness where their passion used to burn. Alex walks in late again. His clothes carry the scent of someone else’s workplace, his eyes weighted by a fatigue he’s convinced is just routine.

He gives Sophia a quick kiss on the cheek—barely there—never noticing how she goes still, hoping this time he’ll let his lips wander somewhere that means something. But he’s already seated at his laptop, its cold blue glare washing over her bare shoulders like a touch from a stranger.

Sophia lies next to him, feigning sleep. Her body aches for the warmth of his hands. She drags her palm across her breast, feeling her nipples tighten under the thin silk she chose only for him.

Her hand slips lower, between her thighs, where she’s already wet with thoughts she hates herself for but can’t push away. She bites down to keep from whispering his name in the dark.

He doesn’t notice. He never does.

In her head, she pleads for him to look at her—to see her sprawled open beside him, fingers working deep inside herself—and finally break. She imagines him pinning her to the wall, shoving her nightgown out of the way, driving into her with all the hunger he used to have.

She sees herself crying from release, dragging her nails down his back as he claims her all over again.

But instead there’s only the steady breathing of a man asleep beside her, and the urgent, hidden rhythm of her own hand beneath the covers, until a quiet, lonely climax shakes through her and leaves her even more hollow.

An adult story. Soaking with want. Painfully gentle. Brutally honest.

No shouting matches—just the soft rustle of sheets, uneven breaths, the heavy scent of her desire, and the unspoken question lingering between them:

How many nights can she finish alone in the dark before someone else notices the lace he never did?

And will he tear it off himself… before he loses her for good?