She tells him that it burns her eyes and so he lets her keep the lights off. He lets their house remain in darkness. He doesn’t mind it much. Anything to make her happy. Not that she seems happy, even in the darkness she asked for.
He sees her moving, a silent wraith in that place. He always noticed her silence. She walks around that house like someone well used to being quiet. Someone who’s made themselves that way so long that now it’s natural.
Sometimes he wakes in the middle of the night and he hears her crying. She locks her self in the bathroom and he lies in bed listening to the helpless sounds she makes. He doesn’t dare go to her, because he knows she’d hate that. She thinks her tears are weak. She doesn’t let herself cry unless it’s the dead of night and he’s asleep.
So he lies there and listens to her cry.
She makes him feel helpless.
Soon enough she slips back into their bed- he pretends to sleep- and pulls the blankets over her. She’s tiny, he observes, so delicate and small and he wants to protect her.
Sunlight slips over the horizon and she draws away from it in her sleep.
She cannot abide the light.