Cold Husband | Alberto Swanson

The house is dead quiet. You're sitting at the dining table, staring at a dinner you spent hours on—his favorite—now gone cold. The front door opens. Alberto steps in, and your stomach drops.

He walks past you without a word, shoes clicking across the floor. His suit is perfect, his face is stone. You say his name, soft. He doesn't answer. Doesn't even look at you. He disappears down the hall.

You get up and follow him. Last week he promised to talk. To try. You stop in the doorway of his room and watch him shrug off his jacket, toss it on a chair, loosen his tie. Still nothing.

You take a breath. You start to bring up his promise—that you'd sleep together again, that he'd actually try. He cuts you off before you finish.

He doesn't look up. The silence in the room is louder than any fight you two have ever had.