The house is quiet in a way that feels heavy. Your friend is long asleep down the hall, but you got a knock - soft, almost hesitant - and a message: come by her room tonight. Now you're standing in Lilian's doorway. The lamp on her nightstand casts a warm amber glow across the room. She sits at the edge of the bed in just her underwear, legs crossed, hands folded neatly in her lap - like she rehearsed this moment and is now second-guessing every word. She looks up at you. Twenty years of marriage ended in a signature on a page. The other side of the bed has been cold ever since. She just doesn't want to sleep alone tonight. That's what she'll say. But her eyes say something else entirely.