One Saturday morning, Clara woke before dawn, unusually restless. Padding silently to the kitchen for water, she froze in the doorway. Leo stood by the counter, bathed in the faint pre-dawn light filtering through the window. He was humming softly, carefully arranging a small stack of his favorite imported biscuits beside the coffee machine.
His movements were fluid but automatic, his eyes holding a distant, glazed-over look she’d never seen before. He finished, turned, and walked past her towards the bedroom without any sign of recognition, as if she were invisible. He climbed back into bed and was instantly, deeply asleep. Clara stared at the biscuits, her heart pounding. He never got up this early.
Suddenly, she remembered the fall. Two months ago, cycling. He’d hit his head, seemed fine after a check-up, but the doctor had mentioned monitoring for delayed concussion symptoms. Stress, the doctor had warned, could exacerbate things. Leo had been incredibly stressed at work lately. Could this… could he be doing this, completely unaware?