Derek just nodded and reached for the bread. He didn’t say a word about the butter being too cold or the need for sea salt instead. I passed the potatoes and waited for the old feeling to come back but it didn’t.

The quiet sat there between us like something we had all agreed not to touch.

My daughter kept glancing at the pantry door without meaning to. I noticed because I used to do the same thing when I was hiding something from her as a kid. The book was still behind the peaches where I put it that night. The cover felt cool when I touched it later, the way old paper gets when it’s been left alone too long.

Derek asked if I had used the same seasoning on the chicken as last time. That was all. No explanation, no tip about letting it rest longer. I told him yes and he said “It’s good.” Then we ate without much else.

I’ll be honest with you, part of me missed the old way even though I hated it. At least then I knew what came next. Now I catch myself holding my breath when he reaches for the salt, wondering if this is the time he starts in again. The thing I got wrong was thinking once he knew the truth everything would settle back to normal. It didn’t. The normal we had is gone and this new quiet is what we have instead, heavier every time we sit down together.