We stopped to fill up the car. My husband was driving, I was next to him…

Five years ago, my parents passed away one after the other. First, my father, from a sudden massive heart attack—he was gone within hours. My mother couldn’t bear his loss.

She faded away, following him six months later, as if the invisible thread tying them together had snapped for her too. I was left utterly alone, and it was a terrifying time. I inherited their modest but steady commercial real estate rental business—several properties in downtown Seattle—along with all their assets, accumulated over years.

A condo in an older Seattle building, a cabin outside the city, and some savings. The inheritance was far more than I’d expected, and it transformed our life with Michael. We sold our condo and cabin, invested the money, and moved into this prestigious residential complex.

We bought a new, expensive car. We started taking multiple international vacations each year to trendy resorts. Financial worries vanished as if they’d never existed.

But with this, I began to question my own worth, my place in this new, affluent life, where I remained, essentially, just Michael’s wife. Lately, Michael had been staying late at work more often. He explained it as a big new project, saying his career depended on it.

But vague doubts started creeping in. Before, if he was running late, he’d always call ahead, apologize, explain. Now, I’d get curt texts.

“Home late, don’t wait up.” He’d also started checking his phone more frequently, almost nervously, always keeping it close. Sometimes, he’d step into another room or onto the balcony for long calls, closing the door behind him.

When I asked who it was, he’d brush it off. “Just work, nothing interesting.” I shared my concerns with my best friend, Sarah.

Sarah was a psychologist and had seen her share of family dramas. She listened carefully and gently suggested it might be a twelve-year marriage crisis—a classic case, as she put it.

“Lots of couples go through this, Emily,” she said. “Maybe you two need to spend more time together? Take a trip, just the two of you?” But deep down, I felt a growing unease that this might be something more serious than a midlife relationship slump. When Michael came home, he tried to act normal—cheerful, cracking jokes, sharing work anecdotes.

To outsiders, we still looked like a couple without issues. But I started noticing his gaze sometimes turned distant, glassy, as if his thoughts were miles away. At night, lying in bed, I couldn’t sleep…