The nights we stopped going out

We used to plan our evenings around food.

Small cafes. Late dinners. Random cravings. That was our thing.

Then one night she opened a menu, and I watched her read it twice. Then a third time. Her thumb kept stopping at the same spot.

I didn't know what to say. I just said, "Order whatever, it'll be fine." It wasn't fine. I knew it wasn't fine.

Now I catch myself suggesting we just stay in. "It's easier," I say. But I know what I'm really doing — I'm protecting her from a moment I can't fix.

I miss going out. But I miss seeing her relaxed more.