The following days felt like walking on eggshells. At breakfast, Daniel would emerge from his room impeccably dressed, the dark circles under his eyes the only evidence of his nightly turmoil. Olivia, on the other hand, seemed increasingly fragile. Her smiles were wan and forced, her laughter almost nonexistent.I knew I needed to speak with them, to understand and offer my support. But every attempt to bring it up was met with deflection or silence. Daniel, always busy with his work, seemed unreachable, and Olivia, though kind, was reserved.

One evening, as we sat together watching television, I turned to Olivia. “Is everything alright, dear?” I asked gently.She hesitated, her eyes flicking to Daniel, who was engrossed in his phone. “It’s just… work is very demanding for Daniel right now. We’re managing.”It was an answer, but not the truth I sought. That night, the cycle repeated. Again, I found myself at the door, listening to the muffled sound of water and whispered reassurances.