It's been almost a week.

My wife hasn't spoken to me for almost a week except when it's about our dog, Coco, or your usual update on our whereabouts and her one-worded replies. Other than that, it's silence from her. 

She won't even look at me.

I don't even think she even noticed that I recently cut my hair.

It hurts. 

I was used to her being quiet after a fight but normally, it only lasts for two days. 

Not this long. 

And not this painful. 

She'd let me kiss her, let me hold her when we sleep. I'd tell her I love her and she whispers it back like she's whispering it in the air, devoid of its meaning. 

But it all sounds empty, like she's only doing those things because she's used to it, not because she means it.

But I hope I'm wrong. 

I think I know my wife well enough to know that she will always mean it when she says I love you.

I think this whole situation just got me paranoid. 

And it hurts when I try to look at her and all I see is emptiness, eyes void of any emotion. 

Perhaps she was really tired of the whole thing; the same thing that we fight about over and over again. 

I have been trying to fix it. 

Perhaps I've become too complacent of our relationship. 

Because whatever comfort I'm trying to give her, it's not enough. 

Her body is rigid, her heart closed off. 

Perhaps I've really done it this time. 

And I don't know how to make it better. 

We had just gotten ready for bed. 

It's our usual routine: we shower together, we stay up on our phones for a bit, and then we sleep. 

Karina was on her side of the bed, her back against the headboard as she maniacally types on her laptop.

She's like this sometimes: writing viciously when inspiration strikes. She could go on for hours doing it, afraid that if she stops, she might lose her train of thought.

So, I let her be while I would glance at her from time to time. 

I'm not so good with words so it amazes me how she can create something so good, stringing letters together. 

And then she would suddenly stop, turn to me and ask me if I would want to read. 

"Babe, do you wanna read what I wrote? I got inspired by you," she asked, turning her body towards me. 

I looked up from my phone. "Sure. Send it to me." 

She typed furiously on her laptop and a notification popped up on my phone. I exited whatever Tiktok video I was watching and read her latest work. 

Karina is so talented with words. 

Sometimes I can't even begin to tell her how good she is.

I simply have no words. 

So when she asks, "what do you think?" I simply say, "it's good, babe." 

Most of the time that simple phrase would pacify her and she would smile and resume with her writing. 

Sometimes, she would ask for more. 

"You don't have any other comments?" 

"It's good, babe," I told her again because I don't know what else to say. 

"Seriously? You don't have any other comments?" 

And because I'm a simpleminded person, I often misinterpret her words. 

Because Karina likes to do this. She asks questions – hard questions that really test me. It's the kind of game she likes to play and it's the kind of game that I don't like participating in because it leads to me being judged. 

For whatever reason, I saw her question as one of her games and something in me snapped. 

"I don't want to play your games, babe."

Karina whipped her head in my direction, frowning. "What the hell? I'm asking for your opinion. Do you have any other comments?"

"No, I don't want to do this," I dismissed her and went back to watching videos on my phone. 

"What do you mean? I'm genuinely asking for your opinion." She sounded upset but for whatever reason again, I dodged her. I was on defense mode. I didn't want another one of her games. 

Not tonight. 

"No, because you always do this and then it's like you trick me and judge me for my opinion," I reasoned out, waving my hand in the air because I didn't want to deal with another one of her inquisitions. 

"What?" She asked, confused. At that point, she was getting heated. 

Karina can argue. And she was getting ready. 

"See, this is why I don't like telling you things because you nitpick everything I say and make me look like the bad guy." I was also getting annoyed, upset that she was playing this game again when we're about to sleep. "You judge me for the things I say when you ask me questions." 

"Where did this even come from?" Karina raised her voice and I winced. I don't like it when she raises her voice. "I wanted to hear your opinion about my story and you go off on a tangent. And now you're saying this to me?" She said incredulously. 

And with a puff, she breathed out "unbelievable."

"See what I mean!" My phone has long been forgotten, annoyed at how the night was turning out. I was getting angry, all rationality out of the window. 

"What, Winter? What exactly do you mean? Because I don't think I'm doing something wrong here. You're the one who's being so dismissive and snappy when all I wanted was your opinion on my work." 

"I don't like doing your little games. This is the reason why I don't tell you anything even if I know you're wrong because it always ends up like this. So I avoid it because I don't like to fight." 

I could feel myself heating up from the tension. "Whatever I tell you, I always lose." 

"There is no winning or losing here, Winter. I ask you questions because I want to have a discussion with you." I could see the tears forming in her eyes. "And now you're telling me you avoid talking to me because you hate fighting with me?" She heaved a sigh, shoulders slumping in the process.

And with her lowest voice, she whispered, "All along, I thought you were okay with me."

Karina is scary when she raises her voice. But it's scarier when she becomes quiet, voice hardened and eyes darkened. 

"But now I find out that you don't even open up to me to avoid fighting with me." 

"Because, this is exactly what I'm trying to avoid. When you say something that upsets me, I sweep it under the rug because I don't like this!"

"So you would rather avoid talking it out with me? Do you know how that makes me feel, babe?" 

She wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I always ask you to open up to me because I don't want you bottling up your feelings." Karina sniffled, hiccuping the words out of . "Because I know how you always blow up and turn it against me. Like right now." 

"You know sometimes I just don't want to because I'm not good with words. I somehow always say the wrong things. I can't think clearly," I huffed, my emotions on overdrive. She was doing it again, pinning everything on me. 

Karina looked at me as if she's unable to believe everything that's coming out of my mouth. "So your best solution is not to talk to me? To avoid situations like this? But look where we are, Winter. You're blowing up, taking things out of proportion when all I asked was a simple comment from you." She shook her head in disbelief. "Why do you always think I'm out to get you? You're always so defensive when it comes to this." 

"Because you always make me look like the bad guy!" I was determined to let her know how wrong she was. 

"This is not how our relationship is going to be, babe," she whispered. "If you can't tell me things — if you can't open up to me then what is our relationship going to be? You would rather bottle up all your bad emotions. You're going to end up hating me." 

"That's not going to happen." 

"You don't know that." 

"I do know. And I'm not going to hate you. I love you" 

"No, you don't know that." I willed myself to look at her and all I could see was hurt. Karina looked vulnerable and suddenly, all the anger bubbling up inside me was slowly dissipating. "You're already doing it, babe. You're avoiding confrontation. Next thing you know, all these bad feelings you have for me will pile up and you will end up despising me."

I didn't want to believe her. I love her too much for that to happen. "No, I won't." I was trying so hard to convince her. Or was I convincing myself? "I won't hate you. That won't happen." 

Karina wasn't listening to me. "Our relationship won't work that way, babe. I always tell you," she wiped the fresh tears streaming down her face, "tell me how you feel because I always tell you how I feel." She shook her head as if another thought had just enlightened her. "I can't believe this. I thought you were okay with me. I feel so blindsided." 

"Babe, no." I had lowered my guard down, voice softer. Slowly, what she was saying was starting to make sense. I realized too late. I already hurt her. "I don't have bad feelings for you." 

"I must have been such a bad wife for you to be scared to talk to me." 

No. This was not how it's supposed to be. 

"No, you're not." 

She shook her head and got up from the bed. "This is not how this relationship is going to work, Winter. If that's how you think then…I don't know." 

Karina made the move for the door and I whimpered, "babe…" almost begging. 

Tears pricked my eyes and I attempted to get up and go after her when she opened the door to leave but she stopped me.

"Don't," she shook her head, not facing me. "I-I need some air." 

Panic set in when Karina didn't return after an hour. My anxiety was getting the best of me and every bad scenario plagued my head.

What if Karina leaves me? My wife, my best friend. What if she has had enough of my stupidity?

I laid in bed, waiting in the dark, shivering. The room felt cold despite the heaviness of the blanket around me. 

The words I said replayed in my head. Why did I even snap in the first place? Why was I so triggered? Have I really developed such ill feelings for my wife that a simple question ticked off something in my head?

No, that shouldn't be. 

I love her. 

Finally, the door creaked open and I felt the other side of the bed dip and Karina's familiar scent immediately enveloped me.

Her back was facing me. 

I contemplated whether I should keep my distance or go closer to her but I decided to go with the latter. I wanted to comfort her so I carefully inched myself closer until her back rested against my front. Nervously, I wrapped my arm around her waist and buried my face in her hair. 

She didn't push me away so I held her tighter. 

"I'm sorry, babe," I mumbled, guilt washing over me. "I'm sorry, I'll be better." 

Karina remained still, quiet.

"I love you, babe," I whispered. 

She hummed in response. A moment passed before she replied, "love you," barely above a whisper.

But I heard it. 

Because even during a fight, we never not say 'I love you.'

But it hurt hearing it this time. 

Because I didn't deserve it.

I was getting by with Karina's silence the first couple of days. It was never complete silence; she never quite gave me the silent treatment. She would respond, albeit one worded but only when needed and mostly when it concerns our Coco. I was used to it. It's how my wife cleared her head.

Those days I was happy when she would tell me to eat or where she was going. 

"I'm walking Coco," she would tell me, eyes averted from mine.

"Okay, be safe," I'd say.

It was a relief when she'd allow me to hold her every night and whisper sweet nothings in her ear – a small gesture I'm afforded despite the tension between us. 

It didn't matter that she was stiff against me. Feeling her warmth was enough to soothe my anxious mind and heart. 

I would always give her the space because I was the same. I'd also ask her to leave me alone for a couple of hours to clear my head. 

But what stings is her aversion; it's when she doesn't meet my eyes. It's when she refuses to look at me like I'm not there.

It's like the sight of me would burn her. 

It makes me feel invisible.

And I always thought that she was cruel for that. It's why I hate fighting with her. 

I hate being invisible around her. 

By the third day, I was beside myself. I had been anticipating for her to break her silence, for the pain to melt away and to finally look at me. 

I miss her.

I miss looking at her face. I miss her smile. 

And it's so hypocritical for me to miss her random tidbits and questions when it's the one thing that got me so triggered, I ended up hurting her. 

So when she didn't so much as glance my way when she passed by me to the kitchen, I was distraught.

How long was she going