Chapter 3 Discontent

• Victoria stood by the kitchen window, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee as she stared outside, watching the morning fog settle over the yard. Everything looked perfectly ordinary—the soft yellow light of dawn, the crisp grass still glistening with dew, and the hum of morning birds that she could hear faintly through the glass. But somehow, the scene felt muted, almost surreal, as if it were happening at a slight distance from her. She found herself squinting slightly, as if searching for something just beyond the edge of her own gaze.
• She inhaled deeply, letting the smell of coffee fill her senses. Maybe I just need more sleep, she thought, though she knew the unease had been there for longer than a few restless nights. It had started as a faint, flickering sensation that she could easily ignore, like a faint tug at the back of her mind. Lately, though, it seemed harder to push away, harder to drown out with morning routines and smiles exchanged at school drop-offs.
• “Mama, I’m ready!” Ethan’s voice broke through her thoughts, pulling her back to the warmth of her kitchen.
• Victoria turned to see her son beaming up at her, his small fingers gripping the straps of his dinosaur-themed backpack. His bright eyes—so full of curiosity and innocence—stared up at her, breaking the tension of her momentary daze.
• “Look at you, Mr. T-Rex,” she said, crouching down to ruffle his hair, letting her smile fill her voice. “You’re going to have an amazing day today, aren’t you?”
• Ethan grinned, nodding eagerly. “We’re learning about space today. Did you know that Saturn has rings? Lots of them. And they’re made of rock and ice!”
• She raised her eyebrows, nodding in mock surprise. “Rock and ice? Well, that sounds amazing. Maybe you’ll be an astronaut one day.”
• “Yeah! But first I have to make it through today,” he said with a firm, self-important nod, and she laughed softly, his seriousness dissolving the strange unease still lingering in the back of her mind.
• With a gentle hand on his back, she guided him toward the front door. “You go and conquer space, alright? I’ll be waiting to hear all about it.”
• She watched him disappear down the walkway toward the carpool line, his tiny legs bounding with that carefree energy only children seemed to have. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, however, a familiar quiet settled over the house—a quiet that should have been comforting but instead felt hollow, echoing faintly in her chest.
• Moving back into the kitchen, she leaned against the counter, letting the silence stretch. The house felt too big, too still. No, she corrected herself, I’m just being silly. But no matter how much she tried to brush the thought away, a tiny voice lingered, whispering things she didn’t want to acknowledge. Her life was fine, good even—a loving family, a beautiful home, and a steady job. She was lucky. She knew that. She’d told herself as much a hundred times.
• But there was a part of her—a part she didn’t dare explore—that seemed to question if this was it. If this was the only story her life had to tell.
• The clock chimed from the hallway, and she instinctively checked the time, snapping herself out of her reverie. She had errands to run, classes to prepare for, and parent emails to respond to before the afternoon. This was no time for daydreaming or indulging in ridiculous, self-centered thoughts. Grabbing her planner off the kitchen island, she flipped it open, filling her mind with the familiar rhythm of to-do lists and reminders. It was easier that way. Easier than trying to make sense of the hazy thoughts that hung in her mind.
• Her phone buzzed on the counter, and she glanced down to see a text from Sophie: Lunch today? Need to talk about my latest disaster date. Major emergency.
• Victoria’s lips curved into a small smile. Sophie’s dramatic pleas for advice or sympathy were a welcome distraction, her unfiltered humor a reliable balm. She sent back a quick I’m in before setting her phone aside, feeling a hint of her earlier unease settle.
• But as she stood there, coffee cup in hand, she couldn’t fully shake the feeling. It was as if her life, with all its perfectly planned moments and predictable routines, was somehow slipping away from her, bit by bit. And she didn’t know what to make of that—didn’t know what to make of the quiet yearning that sat, unsatisfied, deep within her.
• Later that evening, the house was alive with the sounds of a winding-down day: the murmur of cartoons on the TV, the clang of pots in the kitchen, and Ethan’s happy chatter as he helped set the table with his usual enthusiasm. Victoria moved between the stove and the sink, checking on a simmering pot of pasta as she mentally cataloged tomorrow’s tasks. The domestic warmth of the kitchen, combined with the quiet hum of family life, usually felt reassuring. But tonight, there was something slightly off-kilter—a change so subtle she couldn’t quite name it but could feel it lingering in the air.
• When the front door opened, Daniel’s familiar frame filled the entryway. She called out, “Hey, you’re home early tonight!” hoping her tone carried a natural warmth.
• Daniel glanced at her and managed a small smile, though it seemed strangely distant. “Yeah, just needed a break from the office.” He set his briefcase down and loosened his tie, slipping into the room with an ease that felt a little forced.
• Victoria watched him out of the corner of her eye as he moved around, his steps slower, more deliberate. She tried to brush off the prickling sensation creeping up her spine. It was likely nothing, just her overanalyzing things in the wake of her earlier thoughts.
• She set a steaming plate in front of him and sat down, nudging Ethan to follow suit. “So, how was work today?” she asked, hoping to engage him in their usual small talk.
• Daniel’s eyes flicked up, and he seemed to hesitate for a second too long before replying. “Same as always—meetings, calls, a few minor crises. Nothing new.” His voice sounded lighter than usual, too casual, as if he’d rehearsed the answer.
• Victoria didn’t press. Instead, she listened politely as he recounted a few bland details about his day, each detail somehow more clipped and colorless than the last. She knew the cadence of his stories, the way he could usually slip into recounting something funny or absurd with that familiar glint in his eye. But tonight, there was a hollow ring to his voice, a certain detachment that felt out of place.
• Halfway through the meal, his phone buzzed on the table, vibrating against the wood with a soft but insistent hum. Daniel’s eyes darted down, and his hand moved instinctively to flip it over, shielding the screen from view.
• Victoria couldn’t help but notice, though she tried to look away, busying herself with cutting up Ethan’s food. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the subtle change in his expression—the way his jaw tightened, his shoulders tense. He seemed almost relieved when the buzzing stopped.
• “Everything okay?” she asked, trying to keep her tone casual, though her heart had skipped a beat.
• “Yeah,” he said a bit too quickly, not quite meeting her eyes. “Just work stuff. Nothing urgent.”
• She offered a nod, forcing herself to smile, but a pang of unease lingered in her chest. For a second, she considered asking more, maybe pushing just a little, but there was something in his body language—a subtle, almost imperceptible edge—that made her stop. Instead, she glanced down at her plate, hoping to shake the strange feeling gnawing at her.
• As the evening wore on, Daniel’s attention drifted even further, as if he were mentally elsewhere, his body in the room but his thoughts far removed. She noticed the way his eyes glazed over during dinner, his responses to her questions turning curt, automatic. When Ethan excitedly shared a story from school, Daniel’s reaction was a nod that lacked the warmth he usually had when listening to their son.
• After dinner, Daniel retreated to the study, muttering something about needing to catch up on emails. Victoria watched him go, the door shutting behind him with a soft click. That door had rarely been closed before. It was a small detail, but it didn’t escape her notice. She found herself standing in the quiet aftermath, one hand absentmindedly gripping a dish towel as she stared at the closed door.
• “Maybe it’s just work,” she told herself, trying to rationalize the dissonance. He’s been under a lot of pressure lately. But a sliver of doubt lingered, one she couldn’t fully brush off.
• Later, as she got Ethan ready for bed, Victoria read him his favorite dinosaur book, using all the silly voices he loved. But even as Ethan giggled and snuggled into her side, her mind kept drifting, replaying the odd moments of the evening, each one standing out in sharper relief the more she thought about them.
• After tucking Ethan in, she made her way to the bedroom. She glanced down the hallway toward the study, where the faint glow of Daniel’s computer screen seeped through the slightly ajar door. She hesitated for a moment, debating whether to knock, to maybe suggest he join her for a movie or just talk.
• Instead, she slipped into bed alone, staring up at the ceiling as the house settled into silence around her. The strange feeling of detachment that had haunted her earlier in the day returned, deeper now, settling around her like a weight. She closed her eyes, trying to push away the unsettling sense that a wall, invisible but undeniably real, had somehow started to form between them.