Prairie sat on the worn couch in the living room, her fingers tracing the edge of a coffee mug that had long gone cold. She stared at the wall, not really seeing it, her thoughts spiraling deeper into the dark place she had been avoiding for months. Glenn was in the kitchen, his back turned to her as he washed dishes with slow, methodical movements.

The silence between them was thick, suffocating. Prairie couldn’t take it anymore. She set the mug down on the coffee table with a soft clink, gathering whatever courage she could find.

“I wasn’t always like this, you know,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

Glenn paused, the clattering of dishes stopping as he turned his head slightly to listen, but he didn’t turn around. He kept his hands in the soapy water, as if the task before him was more important than what she was saying.

“I didn’t hate myself every second back then,” Prairie continued, her words spilling out faster now that she had started. “There was a time when I believed…I was something. I don’t know what exactly happened, but it’s like my mind and body got used to your compliments, to the way you used to look at me.”

Glenn didn’t respond, but Prairie could see his shoulders tense. She knew he was listening, even if he didn’t want to.

“And now that you’ve grown tired of them—of me—my mind’s convinced itself that I’m undesirable,” she said, her voice cracking. “It’s like…I feel it. The inattention, the kisses you’ve stopped giving, the disappointment you try to hide, but I see it, Glenn. I know it,...