The house was never loud in the mornings.
It used to be.
There was a time when Leonie’s laughter would echo from the kitchen while Reesh argued about coffee being too strong, too bitter, too “trying too hard to fix a life that isn’t broken.” Their daughter would run between them barefoot, sticky-handed from jam toast, screaming about who loved her more in the dramatic way only an eight-year-old could.
Now, it was mostly silence.
Leonie stood by the sink, watching water run over a plate she had already washed twice. Reesh was behind her, leaning against the counter, not touching her, not not touching her either. That was how it had become. Everything in between.
“May pasok ka?” Leonie asked, not turning.
“Later,” Reesh said. “You?”
“After I drop her off.”
A pause. The kind that used to be comfortable. Now it felt like something left open too long. From the hallway, small footsteps padded in.
“Mama,” their daughter called, hair still messy from sleep, holding one sock and no shoe. “Where’s the other one?”
Leonie finally smiled.. real, immediate, automatic. “Under your bed again, I think.”
“I swear it ran away,” the girl said seriously.
Reesh let out a quiet laugh. Not enough to be joy. Just muscle memory. The child looked between them, then ran off again like nothing in the world had ever been complicated but the moment she disappeared, the air changed.
Leonie dried her hands slowly. “She’s been asking why we don’t eat together anymore.”
Reesh didn’t answer right away. She was looking at the counter instead of Leonie, like the wood grain had something important to say.
“What did you tell her?” she asked.
“That you’re busy.”
A beat.
“That’s not a lie,” Reesh said.
Leonie turned now. “It’s also not the truth.”
That landed differently. Not like an argument. Like a tired truth finally being placed on the table.
Reesh exhaled, rubbing her forehead. “Leonie…”
“I’m not blaming you,” Leonie said quickly, softer now. “I’m just… I don’t know how to talk to her anymore without feeling like I’m lying.”
Reesh finally looked at her then. Really looked. There was love there. It didn’t disappear. That was the problem. It just wasn’t enough to hold everything else together anymore.
“I’m tired,” Reesh admitted quietly.
Leonie nodded before she could stop herself. “Me too.”
And then both of them just stood there with it. The kind of tired that sleep didn’t fix. The kind that came from years of choosing silence over fights, schedules over dates, convenience over conversations that might break something.
From the hallway, a small voice again. “Mama! I found it!”
And just like that, they moved again. Not toward each other. Toward her. Because that’s what they always did now. That night, after their daughter fell asleep between them on the bed she wasn’t supposed to be in, Reesh stared at the ceiling.
Leonie whispered, “Do you think she knows?”
Reesh didn’t ask what she meant. “She knows something,” she said instead.
Leonie turned slightly, careful not to wake the child. “We’re not bad parents.”
“No,” Reesh agreed. A pause. “We’re just… not okay anymore.”
Leonie closed her eyes. “When did it start feeling like this?”
Reesh didn’t answer immediately because there wasn’t a clean answer.
Maybe it was the missed dinners.
Or the unreturned “I love yous” said out of habit.
Or the first time they stopped reaching for each other in the dark.
Or maybe it didn’t start. Maybe it just… happened slowly enough
that they didn’t notice until they were already living inside it.
“I don’t want to hurt her,” Leonie said.
“Neither do I,” Reesh replied.
And that was the hardest part because neither of them were cruel.
They were just two people still doing their best in a home that no longer knew how to hold them the same way.
Outside, the world kept moving.
Inside, they stayed awake a little longer than they needed to.
Not fighting.
Not loving like before.
Just existing in the space between staying and leaving, while their daughter slept safely in the middle of everything they hadn’t figured out yet.
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