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Microcosm | Almost
The Note
One note almost ended their marriage. One conversation gave it another chance.
There are so many things I should have said before our marriage became something we could barely recognize.
Carlos didn’t sign the note. There was no “I love you,” no “I’m sorry,” and no plea for forgiveness. It sat on the kitchen table, between the salt shaker and the little wooden plaque that said Bless This House.
They had been married 11 years, long enough for the initial sparkle of their love to give way to unpredictable shifts. Like the changing weather, their time together brought days of warmth and sunshine alongside raging storms.
For the past few months, they communicated like workers passing each other on a shift change. Phyllis wrote notes about their bills, and Carlos left notes about the groceries.
Neither addressed the silence slowly infiltrating their marriage.
For Carlos, late work hours became the norm, and work emails interrupted dinner. Instead of listening when she asked if everything was okay, he offered clichés.
In time, Phyllis stopped asking, and he learned too late what that silence meant.









