The Buried Truth

The silence in the house was louder than any words Judge Mark could ever say.

Kayla moved around like a ghost, picking up plates from the dining table, cleaning where nothing was dirty, just to fill the emptiness. Since the miscarriage, the man she called her husband had changed. He didn't shout, he didn't hit her, but the silence was a whip.

He hardly looked at her. And when he did, the look carried blame.

In his eyes, she was the reason their baby didn't make it.

In his heart, he believed he lost a son.

And in her chest, Kayla carried the guilt like a stone pressing her lungs every second.

They used to laugh, once. They used to eat together. But now, Mark came home late, and left early in the morning. The bed they once shared had become a battlefield of distance, he turned his back every night, as if her touch was poison.

One evening, while preparing the training materials for her students because she's planningto resume back to work, Kayla's phone rang. It was Camila, her best friend.

"Pack a bag," Camila said. Her voice was sharp, direct. "You need air. I'm taking you out."

Kayla hesitated. "Camila, you don't understand. He'll-"

"He'll what?" Camila cut in. "Ignore you more than he already does? Please. You've been crying for weeks. You can't keep dying in that house."

So Kayla gave in. She threw clothes into a small bag and went to bed. The following morning, Camila came to pick her up.

"You know what I think?" Kayla said,with a heavy word.

"What?" Camila asked, staring out at the fading sunset.

"I think Mark is cheating on me."

Camila turned quickly with hed eyes on the road. "What are you saying?"

The late nights, the coldness, the way he makes me feel like I'm the criminal here... it's not just grief. That man has someone else warming his bed." I can feel it. And he's getting too close yo his secretary. She calls and text him every night and then. I found receipts of things they hot together, and hotel they booked.

The car ride with Camila was the first time in weeks she felt like herself again. The windows were down, music humming low, and Camila drove with that reckless confidence Kayla always envied.

Camila asked, "Do you love him?"

You don't.....stop torturing yourself. Leave this marriage, you deserved a good man and you deserved to be happy. You're clearly not happy in this marriage.

Kayla's throat tightened. She hated Camila for saying it, but hated herself more because a small part of her wondered if it was true.

The beach was alive with music and laughter when they arrived. People danced barefoot on the sand, drinks in hand, joy in their voices. It was the opposite of the suffocating house she left behind.

They sat at a small drinking joint by the shore, sipping cocktails and watching the waves crash in silver under the moonlight. Camila leaned back, scanning the crowd. Then her eyes locked on someone.

"Damn," she whispered. "Look at that one."

Kayla followed her gaze. A huge, dark-skinned man stood a little distance away. He had the kind of presence you couldn't ignore, broad shoulders, calm stance, eyes that seemed to hold secrets.

"Go talk to him," Camila teased, nudging Kayla's arm.

Kayla shook her head fast. "No. Have you forgotten I'm married?"

"Married and miserable," Camila fired back. But before Kayla could reply, Camila was already laughing with two strangers who offered them more drinks. Within minutes, she was dancing, leaving Kayla alone at the table.

The drink on the table was almost finished when a man slid into the seat beside her. He reeked of alcohol, his smile too wide.

"Pretty lady, why sit alone?" he slurred.

Kayla ignored him.

"Come, drink with me. One shot won't hurt." He pushed a glass toward her.

"She didn't utter a word"

But he didn't stop. His hand brushed her arm, his voice growing pushier. "Don't be shy. Just drink. I'll take care of you."

Kayla's chest tightened. She tried to pull back, but he leaned closer, his breath sour. Just when panic started bubbling, a voice cut through the noise.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The drunk man turned. Standing there was the handsome stranger they had noticed earlier, the one with the calm stance. His eyes were sharp now, burning with anger.

"Back off," he said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried weight. The kind that made people listen.

The drunk man muttered something under his breath and stumbled away.

Kayla exhaled, realizing she'd been holding her breath.

The stranger turned to her. "You okay?"

She nodded quickly. "Yes... thank you."

He extended a hand. "I'm Ben."

Kayla hesitated, then placed her hand in his. "Nandi."

And for the first time in months, she smiled. A small, guilty smile. But it was real.