Chapter 1 – Before the Distance

Anna still remembered the first time she met Daniel. She was twenty-two, full of dreams, and full of faith in love. Daniel had that smile that made her heart calm. He spoke softly, listened carefully, and promised that he would never let her cry. Life seemed perfect back then. They married in a small church with only family and close friends. When she looked into his eyes that day, she believed they would stay together forever.

In the first years, they laughed every morning. He would bring her coffee and kiss her forehead. She would wait at the window every evening, excited to see him return from work. They used to talk for hours about everything — their future, their little plans, their dreams. She felt safe, loved, and seen. When he called her “my peace,” she believed he meant it. Every small moment felt big because they had love.

But love started to fade slowly. It didn’t disappear in one day. It left quietly, like a light turning off in pieces. Daniel began staying late at work. He said he had to finish reports or meet clients. She believed him. She waited for him every night with dinner on the table, sometimes until midnight. The food got cold, but her hope stayed warm.

At first, he would call to say he’d be late. Then the calls stopped. When he came home, he looked tired and distant. He didn’t ask how her day went. He didn’t notice her new dress or the way she tried to look pretty for him. He just sat, ate in silence, and looked at his phone.

Anna tried to fix everything with love. One morning, she wrote him a small note that said, “I miss us.” She kept it on his office bag. He didn’t mention it. That night, she found it in the trash. She stared at it for a long time before quietly walking to bed.

She tried cooking his favorite food — pasta with white sauce and garlic bread. He came home, said he had already eaten. She smiled, but her eyes watered when he wasn’t looking. She told herself he was just tired, that things would be fine soon. But inside, she knew something was slipping away.

He stopped complimenting her. He stopped saying goodnight. Sometimes, he would sleep on the couch saying he had back pain. Once, she came near him and said softly, “You don’t talk to me anymore.” He replied, “Anna, stop overthinking. I’m just tired.” She nodded, but tears fell as she turned away.

One evening, she waited with candles and dinner ready. She thought maybe surprise would make him smile. But he didn’t come. Hours passed. The food turned cold again. At midnight, the clock ticked loudly, and she blew out the candles. She sat alone, whispering, “Maybe he forgot.” But her heart knew — he hadn’t forgotten. He just didn’t care anymore.

Her mornings became empty. She still made two cups of coffee out of habit but drank both herself. She talked to herself while cleaning just to fill the silence. She started keeping a diary, writing what she couldn’t say aloud. The first line she wrote was, “I miss my old life.”

She stopped telling friends anything because she didn’t want to hear their pity. When her best friend asked, “Is everything okay, Anna?” she smiled and said, “We’re just busy.” But deep inside, she knew she was losing him day by day.

One Sunday, while folding clothes, she found an old photograph — the two of them laughing on a rainy day. She sat on the floor, holding it close to her heart. She whispered, “Where did we go wrong, Daniel?” That night, she cried quietly so he wouldn’t hear.

Days turned into weeks, and the space between them grew like a wall. He started leaving early, coming home late, saying little, and smiling less. Sometimes she tried to hold his hand, but he pulled away gently. It was not anger — it was emptiness. And emptiness hurts more than anger.

One morning, she made pancakes and said, “Remember when you said we’d travel to Paris?” He didn’t look up and replied, “Not now, Anna. Please.” She sat quietly, staring at her plate, realizing that her love was now one-sided.

Every night before sleeping, she prayed, “God, please bring him back to me.” But every morning, she woke up to the same silence.

One evening, she tried one last time. She sat beside him on the couch and whispered, “Do you still love me?” He didn’t answer for a long time. Then he said, “I don’t know what I feel anymore.” Her eyes filled with tears. She didn’t shout. She didn’t argue. She just got up and walked to the kitchen, holding her chest as if to stop her heart from breaking out loud.

That night, she sat by the window until sunrise. She watched the light come through and thought, Maybe love ends quietly. She didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning of her new story — the story of a woman who would soon lose everything and still find herself again.