{"id":9390,"date":"2026-10-13T04:31:13","date_gmt":"2026-10-13T04:31:13","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/josephrauch.com\/therauchreview\/?p=9390"},"modified":"2026-10-13T15:35:17","modified_gmt":"2026-10-13T15:35:17","slug":"the-silent-treatment","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/josephrauch.com\/therauchreview\/fiction\/the-silent-treatment\/","title":{"rendered":"The Silent Treatment"},"content":{"rendered":"

June 1, 2026<\/strong><\/p>\n

Dear Diary,<\/p>\n

4 months. He hasn\u2019t said a word to me in 4 months. Still expects me to cook, clean and fuck him, but doesn\u2019t speak to me. He does this from time to time, but this is the longest he\u2019s ever gone. My husband, Mike, and I have been married for 10 years. He wasn\u2019t always this way. I was about a year out of high school when we met, and I remember being nervous about bringing him to my parents\u2019 home to meet them because he was a few years older than me.<\/p>\n

My daddy loved him instantly. He told me, \u201cThis is the man you\u2019re going to marry.\u201d The two talked like a long-lost father and son all night. Laughing at each other’s jokes, agreeing with whatever the other said, listening intently to the stories they told.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t notice then, but momma was mostly silent throughout the night. She wouldn\u2019t have been able to get a word in anyway with all the camaraderie. While my future husband and daddy sat on the patio outside smoking daddy\u2019s cigars, momma and I cleaned up the dinner dishes. I hadn\u2019t even asked her what she thought of Mike before she disturbingly said, \u201cHe\u2019s just like your father.\u201d Being the naive daddy\u2019s girl I was, I took it as a sign that I had done something right.<\/p>\n

June 15, 2026<\/strong><\/p>\n

Dear Diary,<\/p>\n

He\u2019s still not talking to me. All because I went to a fucking bar with my coworkers. I\u2019m 29, and I\u2019ve never been to a bar in my life! I work at a call center downtown. My colleagues usually go to happy hour on Thursdays after we get off. They invite me every week, even though I\u2019ve always said no.<\/p>\n

\u201cOnly whores go to bars,\u201d Mike always says. He thinks because most of the women I work with are in their 30s and unmarried, they\u2019re a bunch of harlots trying to convert me. He goes on and on about how they\u2019re all cooped up in overpriced apartments, and how lucky I am that he bought us a house.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s a shotgun house that doesn\u2019t fit alongside the more modern houses in the cul-de-sac. You can tell that at one point, maybe the whole neighborhood had homes like it, but for some reason, the developers didn\u2019t touch ours. The lawn, with its dead patches of yellow grass distributed throughout the green, makes the professionally made-up yards alongside us look even better. I wasn\u2019t sure what was going on when we pulled up in front of the house until Mike eagerly rushed out of the car and stood proudly in front of the \u201csold\u201d sign.<\/p>\n

He talked about how much of a steal it was and how he couldn\u2019t believe it had been sitting for so long, but I could. The long stretch of a house felt like walking down a hospital corridor, and was just as cold. There was a brownish-red spot in the living room that to this day I can\u2019t get out, no matter how hard I scrub. I keep a rug over it.<\/p>\n

He said the kitchen was what made him buy the house. He liked the nice, oak cabinets and \u201cretro\u201d checkered tiles on the floor, but I thought it was tacky. Mismatched. There was something off about the house from the moment I stepped foot in there.<\/p>\n

Furthermore, I couldn\u2019t believe he bought a house without my input. How do I not get a say in where I\u2019m supposed to wake up and go to sleep for as long as we both shall live?<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t say anything then, just smiled and screamed, \u201cYou bought us a house!\u201d Like the doting wife I was conditioned to be. Letting my man lead even when I questioned his sense of direction.<\/p>\n

One of the neighbors told me a doctor used to live here. A surgeon. She didn\u2019t know where he had moved to. Doesn\u2019t even remember seeing a moving truck or boxes coming out of the house, but she was happy he was gone.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere was always a bunch of noise coming out of that house,\u201d she said. \u201cMy husband and I figured it was some horror movies or something, but he sure was watching a lot. The Dowell family over there,\u201d she pointed to a beautiful craftsman-style home catty-cornered to ours, \u201cthey called the police on him once.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDamn, it was that loud?\u201d I questioned.<\/p>\n

My neighbor nodded. \u201cI saw an officer pull up from my front window. Saw him knock on the door, and the doctor invited him in and everything. I never saw him leave, though. The police car was still out front the next day.\u201d<\/p>\n

I barely drank that night at the bar. I had a fruity, seasonal beer that the bartender recommended. I only had one. I can\u2019t even remember the name of it. I played early 2000s jams on the jukebox and got to hear some juicy work gossip. As embarrassing as it is for me to write, I felt like a real grown-up. Out on the town, people watching, standing on a sticky floor with a practically full drink in my hand. Of course, a few barflies flirted with me. One even noticed and complimented my winged eyeliner.<\/p>\n

A little trick I tried that morning. I barely wear makeup. Mike doesn\u2019t like it. He shits on me every time I wear it to the point where I just wipe the makeup off and go barefaced. I was flattered by the compliments, to be honest, but I didn\u2019t pay them any real attention. As ornery as my husband is, I\u2019ve never stepped out on our marriage. Mike can\u2019t say the same.<\/p>\n

When I came home, Mike was in the living room ending a phone call with someone he referred to as \u201cbaby girl.\u201d When I had my back turned to lock the front door, I heard the whisk sound of his phone flying through the air as he chucked it in my direction. Before it could hit me in the back of the head, I ducked.<\/p>\n

He screamed at me while I was walking down the hallway with my head down. \u201cSneaky bitch! Worthless whore! Where the fuck have you been, huh? Answer me!\u201d<\/p>\n

I shuffled into our bedroom and shut the door, making sure not to slam it and anger him even more. By that time, he was yelling at the door like it was a person, and beating on it as if that person had stolen from him. I dropped to my knees and cried in my hands.<\/p>\n

I let my jacket and purse fall to the ground with me. Everything in my purse spilled out, including my phone. I had a text notification from one of my co-workers that read:<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks for coming out tonight! It was good to see you. \ud83d\ude42\u201d<\/p>\n

Mike hasn\u2019t spoken to me since.<\/p>\n

August 5, 2026<\/strong><\/p>\n

Sorry I haven\u2019t written in a while.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve been a little busy. I\u2019ve left my husband\u2026and met someone new. You could even say I met him through Mike. It was about a month ago, after another day of silence (with the exception of insults). Mike had finally fallen asleep next to me, pulling our comforter and the good pillows to his side.<\/p>\n

I truly believe me being cold and uncomfortable helped him sleep better at night. Mike\u2019s massive hand on my shoulder shaking me is what woke me up, followed by his pleading whisper. I thought I was dreaming at first since he hadn\u2019t spoken to me in so long.<\/p>\n

\u201cEstelle, please. My God, Estelle, please wake up.\u201d<\/p>\n

When I opened my eyes, his face was partially hidden under our blanket, and his eyes kept darting between me and the foot of our bed.<\/p>\n

\u201cMike,\u201d I said groggily, “what’s going-\u201d Before I could finish my sentence, my husband was dragged out of our bed by his ankles and screaming before I heard his body thud on the hardwood floor. When I tossed the covers off of me and hopped out of bed to come to Mike\u2019s aid, I stopped and stood frozen. I made eye contact with a man that I knew was dead just by looking at him. A tall man wearing medical scrubs started dragging Mike to the middle of the room with ease. I think he was dark-skinned in his waking life, but the soul leaving his body in death must\u2019ve taken his color with him. Leaving him to be a pretty, stone gray.<\/p>\n

\u201cEstelle!\u201d Mike whimpered, wiggling like a worm in the man\u2019s tight grip, \u201cDo something! Help me!\u201d The haint in our bedroom flipped Mike\u2019s body until he was on his back, grabbed his pajama shirt by the collar, and began to scream in his face over and over. He screamed so loud that I had to cover my ears and turn away.<\/p>\n

The house rumbled like whatever tectonic plate underneath our home was shaking uncontrollably. His burly arms flexed and made a fist with his hand, and he jumped at Mike like he was going to punch him. Instead he punched holes into the floor next to my husband\u2019s ears. Mike desperately dodged each punch.<\/p>\n

While I stood next to the window, stunned and wondering if I could square up with a ghost, I couldn\u2019t help but think of all the times Mike punched holes into the walls of our home in fits of rage. This time, though, I wouldn\u2019t have to come up with a lie to our family about why we had to fix another hole. Every time the dead man broke into our floorboards with his fist, the floor would fix itself like nothing happened and was waiting to be punched again.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease\u2026wait.\u201d I was somehow able to squeak out at the dead man. His all-black eyes looked up at me, but didn\u2019t respond. Instead he shoved his arm into Mike\u2019s mouth until my husband\u2019s lips were wrapped around his elbow. I stepped into the corner with my back against the wall, and slowly slid down. The trickle from my urine warmed my thigh in our cold bedroom. The dead man\u2019s face was focused, and then a eureka sort of look appeared.<\/p>\n

My husband gagged and kicked his feet while the dead man pulled a fleshy, pink, worm-shaped thing out of Mike\u2019s throat. Blood coated the dead man\u2019s hand, and my husband went still and silent. I covered my mouth as the dead man walked toward me, and noticed him pulling down and fixing his scrubs to make himself more presentable. He looked down at his feet bashfully to avoid eye contact with me. Whatever he pulled out of Mike\u2019s mouth was hidden behind his back. The dead man cleared his throat, then presented the long string of muscle and cartilage to me like it was a bouquet. I realized it must\u2019ve been my husband\u2019s voice box when the opening that looked like a sideways eye began to speak.<\/p>\n

\u201cI love you, Ellie! I\u2019m so sorry for how I\u2019ve been to you. I swear I\u2019ll change. Believe me! I\u2019ve learned my lesson.\u201d<\/p>\n

The dead man got uncomfortably close to my face, and I finally got a good look at his features. I thought we rotted after we died, but his skin was smooth and intact. He had long eyelashes that batted at me, and he licked his full lips before he spoke to me in a deep vibrato tone that made my heart fall into my stomach.<\/p>\n

\u201cWould you like me to put his larynx back in his neck? I\u2019ll do it if you want me to,\u201d the dead man said. \u201cI\u2019d do anything you want me to.\u201d<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t remember the last time Mike called me Ellie. I used to love it when he called me that. However, I quickly decided that it would be the last time my husband ever said anything to me. I felt my shoulders relax and looked as firmly as I could at the dead man. Our faces were so close that when I shook my head no, our noses tickled each other. The dead man squished my husband\u2019s voice box and tossed it over his shoulder. He then picked me up off the floor and carried me like a bride over the threshold of her new home. Stepping over Mike\u2019s body as we left the room, and then the house.<\/p>\n

We\u2019ve been together ever since. I don\u2019t know the dead man\u2019s name. Every time I ask him, he simply says, \u201cI\u2019m yours.\u201d So that\u2019s what I call him. Dr. Mine.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

He\u2019s still not talking to me.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":52,"featured_media":9660,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[20],"tags":[40],"class_list":["post-9390","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-short-fiction"],"yoast_head":"\nThe Silent Treatment - The Rauch Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Told through a series of diary entries, \u201cThe Silent Treatment\u201d by Shauntionne Mosely follows a woman navigating an abusive relationship.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/josephrauch.com\/therauchreview\/fiction\/the-silent-treatment\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Silent Treatment\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"He\u2019s still not talking to me.\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/josephrauch.com\/therauchreview\/fiction\/the-silent-treatment\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"The Rauch Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-10-13T04:31:13+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2026-10-13T15:35:17+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/josephrauch.com\/therauchreview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/7\/2026\/10\/joseph-rauch-web-illustration-of-open-and-closed-mouths-surrounded-by-handwritten-dear-diary-text.webp\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1200\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1500\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/webp\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Shauntionne\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Shauntionne\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"10 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/josephrauch.com\\\/therauchreview\\\/fiction\\\/the-silent-treatment\\\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/josephrauch.com\\\/therauchreview\\\/fiction\\\/the-silent-treatment\\\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Shauntionne\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/josephrauch.com\\\/therauchreview\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/0184a362a8d34d7e8f6f2066b4de9f27\"},\"headline\":\"The Silent Treatment\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-10-13T04:31:13+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-10-13T15:35:17+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/josephrauch.com\\\/therauchreview\\\/fiction\\\/the-silent-treatment\\\/\"},\"wordCount\":3267,\"commentCount\":0,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/josephrauch.com\\\/therauchreview\\\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/josephrauch.com\\\/therauchreview\\\/fiction\\\/the-silent-treatment\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/josephrauch.com\\\/therauchreview\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/sites\\\/7\\\/2026\\\/10\\\/joseph-rauch-web-illustration-of-open-and-closed-mouths-surrounded-by-handwritten-dear-diary-text.webp\",\"keywords\":[\"short fiction\"],\"articleSection\":[\"Fiction\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"CommentAction\",\"name\":\"Comment\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/josephrauch.com\\\/therauchreview\\\/fiction\\\/the-silent-treatment\\\/#respond\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/josephrauch.com\\\/therauchreview\\\/fiction\\\/the-silent-treatment\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/josephrauch.com\\\/therauchreview\\\/fiction\\\/the-silent-treatment\\\/\",\"name\":\"The Silent Treatment - 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