2.

Three weeks pass and Lenard comes home expecting Sharon to be there, ... the usual comfort of her presence, despite all that is, ready to lighten the weight he carries, the weight they both share. But tonight, the house greets him with a hush so deep that it is almost unsettling. The hallway is thick with darkness, the air cool and motionless.

He calls out, quietly at first, then with growing uncertainty: 'Sharon?'. Silence answers him so loudly he certainly hears it. The rooms are still, the usual clutter untouched, as though life itself is on pause. He checks the kitchen, the living room, even their bedroom, but there is no sign of Sharon. There is no note left behind to inform of why an absence is present, ... there is no message on his phone.

Confused, Lenard sinks onto the edge of the sofa, with that absence echoing louder than any argument they ever had. He waits in the quiet for her to return, to break the spell, uncertain of what tomorrow will bring.

Lenard wakes to see streams of light leaking through gaps within the closed curtains. He is three quarters covered by a blanket and there is a pillow behind his head. Had he fallen asleep? He must have. Sharon too must have left him right where he is, covering him up and leaving him be rather than waking him.

Is it morning? It must be with the streaks of light streaming into the room, that and the smell of bacon coming from the kitchen. He moves to stand, and this is when he can hear the sound of humming. Sharon is in the kitchen cooking breakfast, seeming in good form. This provides a certain relief given how things seemed when he had arrived home the evening before.

'You seem chipper this morning ...' he says making his way into the kitchen.

'Morning hun ...' she says greeting him with a peck on the lips before returning to the air frier and frying pan. 'Sorry I didn't wake you; you seemed so peaceful I didn't want to disturb you, so I just tucked you in and let you be.'

'Thanks lovey. I actually slept really well, oddly enough.'

'Good, I'm glad you did.'

'Don't mean to pry or anything but where did you get to last night?'

'Wouldn't you like to know? ...'

'Oh, so it's like that, is it?' he says playfully, moving in for a hug.

'It is, now sit down, breakfast is almost ready ...'

'Yes boss ...'

How refreshing all this is, if not slightly worrying. Still, let things be, nothing to worry about here ... until such time as something presents itself so.

The very next morning, sunlight pours through the curtains and paints the room gold. Lenard blinks awake, instantly aware of the cool, empty space beside him. As he rises and pads toward the kitchen, the faint clack of a laptop lid snapping shut meets his ears ... a precise, almost rehearsed sound that lingers a moment too long in the air.

Sharon looks up, her expression guarded, a polite smile hovering just out of reach. No aroma of coffee, no sizzle from the frying pan ... just silence, interrupted only by the distant hum of a neighbour's lawnmower.

'Good morning,' Lenard ventures, watching Sharon slide the laptop away with practiced ease.

'Morning,' she replies, voice careful but bright, as if conjuring normalcy from the ether.

He leans on the countertop, glancing at the spotless stovetop and the empty air fryer, a twinge of curiosity settling somewhere in his chest. Sharon busies herself with tidying up a stack of unread magazines, her movements brisk and efficient. Something clearly is a little ... off.

He searches her face for clues, wondering what secret currents might be swirling beneath this placid surface. But for now, she offers only the soft click of her nails upon ceramic and a glance toward the window, where the day is stretching itself awake.

Lenard clears his throat. 'Anything interesting on this bright morning?'

Sharon's lips quirk in a half-smile. 'Nothing at all. Just catching up on a few things.'

He nods, deciding ... for this moment ... not to probe further. The silence between them is new, but not uncomfortable, shaded with possibility and questions yet unasked. If he didn't know better, he'd suspect her to be in the throws of a new relationship. She wouldn't do that to him, surely, would she?

'Speaking of which ...' she continues, 'I've a couple of errands than need doing. She grabs her bag and a light cardigan she carries rather than putting on, gives Lenard a quick peck on the lips and is gone long before Lenard can even begin to properly get his head around what has just happened.

Indeed, what did just happen?

3.

Time waits for no man, or woman, is that in itself something to worry about? One can only be hopeful when it comes to such thoughts ...

Outside, early sunlight paints the kitchen floor in shy gold stripes. Lenard lingers by the window, watching Sharon's silhouette disappear down the front path, her motions purposeful yet somehow ringed in distance. Today is the morning of their long-awaited holiday to Hawaii ... a day circled on calendars and anticipated in countless conversations. And yet, as the house settles into its gentle hush, he can't quite shake the sense of something gently awry.

He reminds himself not to overthink, not to let old habits cast shadows on the day's bright promise. Sharon seemed cheerful enough ... her smile quick, her eyes a little brighter than usual, if perhaps more carefully arranged. Maybe, he reasons, it's simply nerves. After all, travel always stirs up both excitement and unease.

She has a look of love about her ... but love of a new kind and not that of the length of time they have spent together. They had been childless, and she is not newly pregnant, time of such a possibility has long since vacated, gone on its own holiday only not to return.

Lenard busies himself with last-minute packing, double-checking chargers and passports, trying to let the hum of preparation drown out those silent, circling questions. He remembers the list Sharon made, tucked beneath a magnet on the fridge: sunscreen, swimsuits, novels for the beach. He smiles, picturing her already two steps ahead, orchestrating their escape from routine.

She has done most, if not all, of the preparation prior to now and Lenard is just adding bits and pieces, trying to make himself feel as if he has actually contributed to getting things underway. Sharon is keeping an eye out for the taxi which will bring them both to the airport.

Time edges forward. Eventually, he settles on the couch, mind churning with what-ifs, but determined, at least for now, to take things as they come. Still, he can't help with preventing his mind from wandering.

Is Sharon ill, and just putting her best foot forward until the holiday has come to an end? No, this can't be it. She looks as well as she ever has. Yeah, she, and Lenard himself, are getting on, though still, he believes they still have many years yet to live, or so he'd hope. Now, should not be a time to worry about mortality. It is holiday time, and he'll be damned if he doesn't make the best of the time ahead.

Would she go holidaying if she were seeing another man in secret?

Taxi has arrived right on time. Sharon can't get back into the house quickly enough. She is beaming, there is no way she is ill, unless indeed she is making the best of the situation. Surely, she would have told Lenard if this was the case. She may be fearful that the holiday would not be thoroughly enjoyed if she were forthright about such a thing. Perhaps he might insist on rest rather than going on island excursions and she wants to enjoy any and all excursion she can.

Questions and checks come thick and fast, passports, printouts, luggage ... all is well and ready to go. Taxi driver insists on doing all the heavy lifting, and relatively quickly, they are underway. A holiday is officially underway.

Airport has been reached, bags have been checked, and it is now to a specific gate to soon begin boarding of a plane. Pit stop first, and Lenard waits patiently, worryingly as the seconds and minutes pass right on by. Is a secret man here? Has she left him? Or perhaps the potential illness is real, and she has taken a turn? Hell, this is a different kind of painful than what he is used to.

Sometime in between the moment Sharon parted to apparently relieve herself, up to this moment of indescribable agitation, another couple had come to be near-by. She, the farer half of the second duo, also entered the ladies' room and has also yet to return. There may be a generational gap or two between the two couples though, as it is, the younger man appears to be just as agitated as Lenard so happens to be.

'Women, huh' states the younger man. 'Supposed to be the better half, so they say.'

'That's what they say ...' responds Lenard, watching that entrance to the ladies' room as much like a hawk as his counterpart is.

'I'm Jack, by the way ...'

'Lenard ...'

They shake hands, both distracted by boarding calls and the distance between where they stand and that of the ladies' room.

4.

'Should we be worried, Jack asks Lenard.

'Well, if they're not out soon, we may have to send someone in after them ...'

'Let's hope it doesn't come to that.'

'Yeah. Typical though. If it were me I'd already be in trouble ...'

'Yeah, ... same. So, just the two of you getting away ... no kids or grandkids.'

'Nah ...' Lenard briefly considers how nice it would be to have a number of grown children and grandchildren around for a big family vacation. 'We never had any children, me and Sharon ... I did have a son though ...'

'Sorry for your loss ...'

'Oh, I didn't lose him ... not to death anyhow', Lenard throws a look Jack's way. 'I'm sorry, you're on holiday. ... this is why we're heading away. We just need a certain ... something.'

'That's alright. Don't mean to pry ... since we do have a minute ...?'

'Oh, well ... we were young, his mother and I, neither of us eighteen yet. There were ... complications and ... we lost Lisa'. Lenard's eyes are welling and Jack considers it best to let him continue than interrupt. 'Parents intervened and the child had to be given up ... times were different back then. How I wish it were different ... not knowing how my son grew up ... had he got a good home? Had he been looked after?'

'Couldn't be all that long ago ...' Jack says, hoping a compliment may ease the sadness his companion is surely feeling.

'1978 ... my son, if all is well with him, will be turning fifty soon enough, can ya believe that?' Doesn't feel all so long ago at all ... feels like forever too ...'

'Huh ...'

'Is this all amusing you?' Lenard asks, perplexed with the response he had only just received.'

'Apologises, I mean no disrespect. It's just that I was born in January of 1978. I was adopted and all I know is that my birth mother died due to birth complications ...'

What are the chances? The conversation is prevented from continuing by the last call announcement for the boarding of the flight both Lenard and Jack, and their partners, need to be on and as of yet, there is still no sign of either man's better half. The two men make eye contact foe a moment before Lenard speaks ...

'Right, I'm going in ... we can't wait any longer ...'

'Am I'm coming with ...'

They both head towards where they believe their wives to be and are not exactly sure what they'll do once they get there. Before either of them can even begin to take a step inside, the sound of voices interrupts them, the sound of two familiar voices speak ... well, as it is, each man can only recognize one voice each though that is set to change in the time yet to come.

'Like father ...' says Sharon.

'... like son' says her companion, both of whom had exited the facilities quiet some time earlier having gone unnoticed by the gents.

They turn to their respective partners, both of whom had snuck up behind them, then the men turn to one another. Can this be true? Can this really be?