Page 24 of Best Kept Vows

“I’ve had a long day. I’m going to bed.”

I was grateful that she went into our bedroom and hadn’t decided to sleep elsewhere.

I was also thankful that she was asleep when I got there.

We were that couple that didn’t argue a lot. We each had a lane, and we stuck to it, keeping arguments to a minimum. But these past few days, our home had become a battleground. I felt like I kept saying the wrong things, and unlike in the past, when Lia gave me a pass, now she wasn’t.

I looked at her beautiful face, which was turned to my side. I ran a finger down her cheek. “What is happening to us?” I whispered, feeling miserable.

I should’ve put my foot down and told her not to get her MBA—maybe then we wouldn’t be here, I thought bitterly, the words sounding childish, even in my own head. But I wasn’t fooling myself. Her decision to go back to school to get a job might have sped things up, but we’d been on this path from the moment I took over Boone Metals.

I leaned back against the headboard, dragging in a slow breath. I’d been working nonstop, drowning in it. Too many hours. Too many missed dinners, and too many conversations left unsaid. Wewerebarely more thanroommates. What she’d said stung—but what cut deeper was the fact that she wasn’t wrong.

I didn’t see Lia all day Saturday because there was an emergency at the factory. I wish I didn’t have to go, but I didn’t have a choice. I wanted to stay home with my wife, talk to her, and try to fix this rift that seemed to be growing between us at an alarming rate.

Now, Lia had a job.A freaking job!

I didn’t have a problem with her working—but my mother would lose her shit, and I didn’t want to deal withthat.

It hit me then, the truth: I kept choosing peace with my mother over what Lia needed.

“How long before we get it running again?” I asked sharply, failing to mask my irritation as I stared at the massive CNC milling machine in the center of the factory floor. Usually humming steadily, it now sat silent, technicians crowded around its open maintenance panel.

Porter Carson, the factory manager, wiped the sweat from his forehead, clearly stressed. “At least four hours, maybe more. The spindle bearings seized up again, andwe’ve got alignment issues. We can’t run any production until it’s sorted.”

“What about backups?” I pressed, already knowing the answer.

“Machine Two is offline until the replacement spindle for it arrives next week,” Porter replied, frustration obvious in his voice. “We’ve been overdue for a full overhaul, but maintenance kept getting pushed because?—”

“Because I said we couldn’t afford downtime.” My tone was heavy with guilt. Porter didn’t argue. He didn’t need to.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Now we’re looking at a day, maybe two, lost. It could be worse if we had to special-order replacement spindle bearings.”

“Jesus.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhaustion pressing on my temples. “Do whatever it takes. Expedited parts, overtime pay—just get it running.”

“Will do, Sebastian.”

I glanced at the silent, idle machinery lining the production floor. Every hour we stood still was another blow to Boone Metals’ precarious bottom line.

“I’m sorry for dragging you out here on a Saturday,” Porter added contritely. “I know you have enough on your plate.”

I released a weary sigh. “You did the right thing.”

Porter moved back to his team, already giving instructions to the technicians. I stood there a moment longer, painfully aware that I’d been putting out fires here at the factory, all while my home was burning to theground.

I found out just howbigthe problem at home was on Sunday afternoon.

“Since you refuse to listen to me about working atthatplace, just don’t mention it to Mama or anyone else at dinner.” As soon as the words were out, I knew I should’ve softened them.

Lia looked up from a book she was reading on the back porch. It was cool here, and the fans helped. I hadn’t sat here in ages. Even this morning, I’d been working in my home office until I’d looked at the time and saw we had to leave soon for my parents’ place for Sunday dinner.

Lia regarded me thoughtfully. “How about I don’t come for dinner?”

“Wealwayshave Sunday dinner with my folks.”

What was wrong with her?

Why was she being so difficult?