There’s a certain kind of silence that only shows up when something in your life has quietly run its course—but no one has announced the ending. That’s the silence I found myself sitting in while reading The Rest of Our Lives by Benjamin Markovits.   Not the loud, dramatic kind of silence. The softer one. The kind that settles in after years of compromise, routine, and conversations that slowly stopped meaning what they once did.   Tom isn’t a man in crisis. That’s what makes