The clink of silverware was the only sound between them. Selena watched the way Peter cut into his steak; deliberate, precise, like every slice needed to be perfect. He hadn't spoken more than a few words since they sat down. No casual talk about work. No questions about her day. No smile that reached his eyes. Something was wrong. She could feel it. It was in the air, the kind of tension that didn't announce itself, but coiled quietly under the skin.
She set her fork down, fingers gently curled around the stem of her wine glass. "You're quiet."
Peter didn't look up. "Just tired."
She tilted her head, studying him. He'd been distant for weeks now, maybe longer. And it wasn't just the usual stress. It was colder than that. Measured. Like he was slowly stepping away from her without leaving the room.
Selena cleared her throat. "Peter… if something's on your mind, just say it."
He paused. That was all it took. Just a second too long, a breath too deep, and her stomach sank.
"There is," he said finally.
She sat up straighter, heart beginning to race. "What is it?"
He put his fork down and leaned back in his chair, exhaling like he'd practiced this. Like the words were already rehearsed.
"I've been thinking about us," he began, eyes never quite meeting hers. "Our marriage. Where are we. Where we're going."
"Okay…" she said slowly. "What about it?"
Peter looked up. His expression was calm. Too calm.
"I want to propose something," he said.
And then, like he wasn't about to burn their entire history to the ground, he added: "What would you think about an open marriage?"
For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. The words just… hovered in the air, floating like ash from a fire that hadn't even started yet.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
"I'm sorry, what?"
He didn't flinch. "An open marriage."
Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Her throat had gone dry, and her hands had started to tremble around the base of the wine glass. "Are you—" She swallowed hard. "Are you serious now, Pete?"
"I've done a lot of reading," Peter said, too casually. "People do it all the time. It's not some crazy idea. It can actually strengthen the relationship. There's even research—"
"Oh my God," she cut in, a bitter laugh bubbling in her throat. "You're quoting research to ask me if you can sleep with someone else?"
Peter's jaw tightened. "That's not what I'm saying."
"Yes, it is," she snapped. "Just say it, Peter. You want to sleep with your secretary, Nanny, don't you?"
His silence was the only answer she needed.
Her voice dropped, cold and sharp. "You think I haven't noticed the way you look at her? You think I haven't seen the texts? The late nights? You've already chosen her. This open marriage crap is just your way of making it clean."
"That's not true," he said, eyes darkening. "I love you, Selena. I still want to be with you. But something's missing between us. We're not the same anymore."
"No," she whispered. "You're not the same anymore."
He leaned forward, softer now. Like he was trying to reason with a child. "Look, I'm not asking for a divorce. I'm trying to keep us together. I just think… maybe we both need more. We've been together since high school. We never got to explore anything else.
Maybe this is a way to do that without losing what we already have."
Selena laughed again, but it was the kind of laugh that cracked down the middle. "Do you hear yourself? You want to explore other people and still keep me as your backup plan?"
"No. That's not—"
"God," she cut in, shoving her chair back. The legs scraped loudly against the floor. "You don't even realize what you're doing to me, do you?"
"I'm trying to be honest with you."
She stared at him, heart thudding in her chest like it was trying to break free. "Then be honest. How long have you wanted her?"
Peter hesitated.
That was enough.
Selena's voice broke. "You don't want this marriage. You just don't have the guts to leave me first."
"I never said that—"
"No. You didn't have to."
She stood there for a moment, just watching him. The boy she loved. The man she married. The one who used to hold her like she was his whole world. Now he was sitting at their dinner table, talking about rules and options and research articles.
It felt like she was watching a stranger wear his face.
Her voice trembled, but her spine stayed straight. "I gave you everything, Peter. My youth. My trust. My whole damn life. And now you want me to sit quietly while you try out someone new?"
He looked at her, his eyes tired. "I'm not trying to hurt you."
"You already did."
A long silence stretched between them.
She picked up her wine glass again. Her hand didn't shake this time.
"I'll think about it," she said quietly.
And without waiting for another word, she walked out of the dining room. Her heels echoed like a final decision on the cold floor.
But deep inside, she already knew.
She wasn't thinking about the proposal.
She was thinking about how long it would take to forget the way he used to love her.