The Quiet

The view was cinematic.

Golden hills rolled down to the sea, olive trees scattered like brushstrokes in a landscape painting. The air shimmered with heat. Somewhere below, a bell rang from a distant chapel, the sound stretching thin and lonely in the stillness.

Marla sat on the edge of the veranda, her bare feet resting on warm tile, a glass of wine sweating in her hand. It was the good kind, local and expensive, the kind she used to save for special occasions before everything started to blur. She wore her sunglasses even though the sun was behind her now.

Across from her, Drew adjusted the cushions on the daybed like he was prepping a photo shoot, then lay back with a satisfied sigh. He looked so in it — like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life.

“This is unreal,” he said, shielding his eyes to take in the horizon. “Right? You see this?”

“I see it,” she replied.

A breeze lifted her hair. She didn’t move. She liked the way it danced just past her vision, like something almost real.

Drew reached for his phone, thumbed the camera open, and angled it toward the valley. “We have to get this at sunset. Look at those colors already.”

Marla turned her head slightly. The hills were dipped in soft amber now, shadows pooling in the folds like ink. It was breathtaking, yes. It should’ve filled her with something. Instead, it felt like a screensaver.

“I don’t know if I want to remember this,” she said.

Drew looked at her, confused. “Why not?”

“I mean…” She trailed off. “It’s too perfect. It doesn’t feel real.”

He laughed, the easy kind of laugh that didn’t ask too many questions. “That’s the point. That’s what we needed, right? A break from all the bullshit. This is us, finally breathing.”

She nodded, but didn’t say more.

The villa was a splurge. Booked on a whim after one of their worst fights yet — the kind of fight that didn’t end in yelling, just silence. Days of it. Drew had said he missed her. That she was always somewhere else in her head. That she used to be fun. She agreed to the trip like someone signing a peace treaty they knew wouldn’t hold.

The view had looked amazing on the rental site. “Top of the world,” it said. “Private vineyard. Peaceful.”

And it was all that.

So peaceful it made her chest ache.

Behind her sunglasses, Marla watched Drew scroll through his phone, probably uploading a story. She used to love that about him — his joy, his hunger for moments. He made her feel full once. Now, he just made her tired.

She looked down at the hills, then further down to the winding road that curled like a ribbon through the countryside. A single white car moved along it, slow and small. She imagined being in that car. Alone. Windows down. Sun on her hands.

She hadn’t told Drew about the job offer. The one back in the city. The one that would mean she’d be gone most weeks, traveling, doing something that actually made her pulse quicken.

She could still say no.

Or yes.

The sun dipped lower, painting everything in deep oranges and soft purples. Drew stood up and stretched, then turned toward her.

“Come here,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let’s get one together.”

She hesitated, then slid her feet back into her sandals and crossed over. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her in close.

They smiled for the camera.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The shutter snapped like a promise she wasn’t ready to make.

He kissed the side of her head and whispered, “We’ll be okay. This is the start of better.”

She wanted to believe him.

She wanted to believe herself.

But inside, something remained untouched, like a room with the door always slightly ajar.

After the photo, she stepped away and leaned on the railing again, watching the sea catch the last light. The surface sparkled, unreal.

Drew went inside to check on dinner.

Marla stayed there, still holding the wine, still watching.

The quiet was too clean. The air too still. Even the birds had stopped singing.

It was beautiful.

Exactly where she said she wanted to be.

But she wasn’t in it.

Not really.

She closed her eyes. Imagined the sound of tires on gravel. The wind on her cheeks. The view slipping by her window, not waiting to be captured.

She set the glass down, still half full.

And for a moment, she let herself imagine walking down that road. Not in a hurry. Not in anger. Just moving, finally, toward something honest.