“What?”

“I need some space.”

The words hit harder than a slap. “Space?” I repeated. “Daniel, we got married four days ago.”

“I know.”

“This is our honeymoon.”

“Exactly.” There was an edge of irritation in his voice. “We’ve been together nonstop. I feel suffocated.”

Suffocated. That was how he described me. I waited for him to smile, to apologize, to tell me he didn’t mean it. Instead he slid a glossy brochure across the table.

“I already booked everything.”

Massages. Luxury suites. Private yoga.

“You booked this without asking me?”

“It’s a gift.”

“No,” I whispered. “It feels like you’re trying to get rid of me.”