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October 23, 2028 - Monday

The peace does not last long.

The first night with Peter was pure bliss. It felt as though everything had gone back to the way it was supposed to be. But every night after that, things continued to deteriorate. The second night, Peter woke up at 2 a.m. and wandered around the house until the sun came up, almost as though he was checking to see if the walls had up and moved since he'd been gone.

He came back to bed at 7 in the morning and slept the whole day while I went to work. The entire time, I was itching to get home, to spend time with him and ask him all the questions I'd been dying to get answers to. He didn't talk much when I returned, giving me three-word answers at most. I brushed it off, assuming he was tired or that he just didn't want to talk about work since he'd been there for so long.

The sex started to get worse, too. As each night passed, Peter kissed me less, slept further away from me, and rarely talked after. He would turn over and fall asleep for an hour, and then wake up and wander the house again.

After he's been home for over a week, I corner him before I take a shower. "Join me, Peter," I say, sitting on the edge of the bed. He is groggy, staring at the ceiling. I touch his hand, bring it to the hem of the towel wrapped around my body.

"I've already showered," he says. He moves his hand away from me and turns over.

"What's the matter, Peter? What happened? Please, talk to me." He doesn't answer. I poke and I prod, and I beg him to speak. He's fallen asleep, and I am getting too tired to try.