The grim expression on Tom’s face as he walks in that night, is unmistakable. Then again, Tom hardly shows any emotion, he’s always wearing that mask.

His blue gaze is penetrating, as he walks slowly to where I’m standing. I’m by the kitchen counter, making a fruit salad.

He’s wearing a black trouser, a black shirt, and has his tablet in one hand. He gently places the tablet on the counter, and sighs heavily. His black wedding band is still intact.

“Hi.” He whispers.

I look up at him, as if I’m only acknowledging his presence now. He looks empty and for the first time, I see strain on his usually kept face.

“Evening” I reply curtly, focused on my fruit bowl.

He doesn’t say another word, so I move to the lounge. I hear his slow, heavy and calculated steps follow behind me. The hairs on my neck stand up, as if I’m being followed by a predator, and not my husband.

When I finally sit down and get my feet up, he stands still by the passage, his hands in his pockets. He is standing upright, and right now, would be a good time to take a beautiful picture of him. That’s a good pose.

I keep my mouth full with the fruit salad, I feel his intense stare on me. I refuse to be dettered though, I refuse to show him that I am mad. I refuse to give in to his tactics.