Love

Her POV

I set two plates on the table, just like I did every evening. The rosemary potatoes and grilled chicken glistened under the dim kitchen light. His chair scraped against the floor as he sat down, the sound so ordinary, so grounding, that it felt impossible to believe he was ever gone.

"Looks like someone’s trying to show off today," James teased, lifting his fork with a playful smirk.

"Don’t flatter yourself," I shot back, grinning. "I made this for me, not you."

"Right," he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You always cook my favorites when you’re madly in love with yourself."

James leaned forward, his blue eyes piercing into mine. "You know, I think you’re trying too hard to impress me these days."

I raised an eyebrow, my voice laced with mock offense. "Excuse me? A wife can’t put in effort for her husband?"

You’ve always put in effort," he said softly.

"More than I deserve."

His POV

I watched her laugh, her eyes sparkling like they used to. She looked so alive, so present, but I could see the weariness in her movements—the slight tremble in her hands as she lifted her glass.

"Anna," I said gently, "maybe we should talk about... you know, things."

She froze, her fork clinking against the plate. "Not tonight, James. Let's just enjoy this, okay?"

I nodded, though my heart ached. "Anything for you."

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.