26.

Daniel’s POV

I stepped away from the garden, my frustration mounting. I had tried so hard to reach Vera, but all I got in return was nothing. She was like a puppet, nodding and agreeing without ever truly engaging. I couldn’t stand it anymore.

I pulled out my phone, dialing Dr. West’s number, hoping he could shed some light on this. The moment the call connected, I didn’t waste any time.

“She’s just... robotic,” I said, my voice laced with frustration. “She just agrees with everything I say and never gives her opinion. It’s like I’m speaking to a wall.”

On the other end of the line, Dr. West chuckled, a sound that grated on my already frayed nerves.

“You know, Daniel,” he said, his tone far too light for my taste, “it’s not her, it’s you.”

I frowned, running a hand through my hair. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

He let out a small laugh again, as though he found the whole situation amusing. "You’re not listening to her. You’re giving her orders, and that’s why she’s responding like that. Change your approach—turn your statements into more kind and pleasant questions. She’s not a robot, Daniel. She’s a person. She’ll react differently if you treat her like one."

I ground my teeth, glaring at the floor as I tried to process his words.

"40% rule," he continued, almost sing-songing the phrase. "Remember that. Give her a little more, about understanding what she needs, not just what you want."

"40% rule..." I mumbled under my breath. The idea irritated me, but there was a part of me that knew he was right. The problem wasn’t with Vera—it was with me. I wasn’t treating her like I should.

Sighing, I ended the call and leaned against the wall, taking a moment to collect my thoughts. Dr. West had always been blunt with me, but I knew deep down he was offering me advice for a reason. I couldn’t keep pushing Vera into my world without understanding hers.

I shook my head and exhaled sharply.

“Alright,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else. “I’ll try it your way, Dr. West. But it better work.”

With a determined look on my face, I made my way to the kitchen to prepare for tomorrow. I was going to make this work, for her and for me. It wasn’t just about getting her to open up—it was about treating her like she deserved to be treated. As a person, not a problem to solve.

And I knew it was going to be a hell of a lot harder than I’d thought.

I sat down at the kitchen table, my phone in hand as I searched for anything that could guide me. I needed to get this right—needed to find a way to make Vera feel heard, to make her feel like she mattered. I scrolled through article after article, my mind racing with ideas. Each one gave me a new approach, a way to reframe my questions so that they didn’t feel like commands.

I nodded to myself as I read a suggestion about asking small yet meaningful questions. Questions that weren’t demanding, but rather curious, gentle. The idea was simple—ask her about her day, her thoughts, even her feelings, without putting any pressure on her.

Taking a deep breath, I put my phone down. It was time to try.

“Vera,” I began, walking over to where she was sitting by the window, staring out at the garden. The sunlight caught the edges of her hair, and for a moment, I just stood there, watching her. “How was your morning?”

Her eyes shifted to me for a moment, and she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “It was fine.”

I bit back my frustration, but I kept my voice calm, steady. “Anything interesting happen at work?”

She shook her head. “No, nothing special.”

Her answers were brief, but at least she was responding. I tried to push down the feeling of disappointment creeping up. I knew I had to be patient, that it would take time for her to open up, but it didn’t make the silence any less suffocating.

I forced myself to smile, keeping my tone light. “What about when we went to the garden yesterday? Did you enjoy it?”

She hesitated for a second, then nodded again. “Yes, it was nice.”

It was the same pattern—short answers, no real engagement. But I reminded myself that this was progress. She was talking, even if it was just a little.

"Have you thought about where you'd like to go for our holiday?" I asked next, trying to keep the conversation going.

Her eyes flickered toward me, and she seemed to pause before answering, as if she was carefully choosing her words. "I don’t know. Anywhere is fine."

I exhaled quietly, frustrated but determined. These weren’t the deep conversations I wanted, but I knew I had to be patient. I couldn't force her to open up all at once. It had to happen gradually, with small, careful steps.

I took another deep breath and tried again, this time softer. “Is there something you’d like to do when we’re away?”

She looked at me for a moment, then gave another small shake of her head. “Not really.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than before, but I didn’t let it show. I wasn’t going to give up on this—not after everything.

“Okay,” I said, my voice quiet. “I just wanted to ask.”

I left the room without saying anything else, my mind working through everything she’d said, even though it wasn’t much. The 40% rule stuck in my head, reminding me that I needed to do more, to push less, and to make Vera feel like she was part of this partnership—not a passenger in her own life.

I had to keep trying. And I would.

I stepped outside, trying to clear my head. The afternoon sun was blinding, but it didn't matter; I needed a moment to think. I pulled out my phone again and dialed Dr. West's number, hoping for some guidance.

"Hello, Daniel," came the familiar voice on the other end. "How's the 'experiment' going?"

I groaned and ran a hand through my hair. "It’s not working. She’s still giving me one-word answers, barely engaging. I don’t know what to do."

There was a brief pause before Dr. West let out a soft laugh. "Well, you're doing it all wrong."

I blinked, a little taken aback. "What do you mean? I’m trying to ask her questions, get her to open up. What else am I supposed to do?"

Dr. West’s voice remained calm but amused. "It sounds more like you're interviewing her than talking to her. You’ve got to ask her questions the way you would ask your friends. Be casual, natural. You’re not some boss giving orders—she’s your wife, Daniel."

I bit my lip, feeling a mix of frustration and embarrassment. "I know... but it’s not easy. She’s so closed off, it feels like I’m walking on eggshells."

Dr. West chuckled again. "That’s because you're treating her like a fragile piece of glass. Talk to her like a person, not like she’s some delicate thing you need to tiptoe around. You need to make her feel safe enough to talk, not forced. You’re not interviewing her for a job; you're getting to know your partner."

I let out a breath, the weight of his words settling on my shoulders. He was right, of course. But I couldn’t help the nagging feeling that something deeper was wrong.

“Alright, alright,” I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. "But how do I do that? I’m struggling with... well, just talking to her like a normal person."

Dr. West’s tone softened, a little more empathetic now. “Give her space, Daniel. Stop pushing. Ask her how she feels, ask her what she enjoys, not just what she doesn’t mind. Just treat her like you would anyone else."

"Yeah, I will do my best."

I ended the call, feeling both frustrated and determined. I had to change the way I was interacting with Vera, but how? I needed to find a way to ask her questions, to connect with her—without making her feel like I was grilling her.

I walked back inside, my thoughts still swirling. This wasn’t going to be easy. But if I wanted to fix this—to really fix things between us—I had to be patient and approach her differently. No more interviews, no more forced questions. I just had to be myself. I’d have to keep trying.