Cold silence

The next few days passed in a haze of cold silence. Abby moved through the house like a ghost, her presence felt but never acknowledged. Remo tried to engage her, to break the icy barrier that had formed between them, but his attempts were met with indifference or curt responses. The warmth and connection they had once shared seemed like a distant memory, replaced by a tension that neither of them could escape.

One evening, as Remo sat in the living room pretending to watch television, he couldn't take it anymore. The silence was suffocating, the distance unbearable. He turned off the TV and walked into the kitchen, where Abby was methodically washing dishes, her movements robotic and detached.

"Abby, we need to talk," he said, his voice strained with frustration.

She didn't turn around, her back remaining rigid as she continued to scrub a plate. "What is there to talk about, Remo?"