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“Time to go, ladies. Thank you for watching over her while we were away. But I think right now they need some time alone to digest this situation,” he says, and they all agree, one after the other coming to hug me or kiss my forehead, telling me to call them at any time if need be.

When everyone is gone, the room falls into an awkward silence. Silas ends up sitting on the couch with his head between his hands for a few hours. We don’t talk, we don’t look at each other. It’s like we don’t exist. At least that’s how we feel.

Eventually, he gets up to make dinner, and at some point, comes over and removes Milo from my lap, forcing him to go outside and take care of his business. He locks the doggy door so that Milo can’t come right back inside, but the minute he does let him back in, Milo jumps back up and settles in.

A little while later, Silas comes back and sets a plate with a small portion of seared salmon and charred green beans along with a water bottle beside me. He sits back on the couch with his plate and begins to eat.

Halfway through his meal, he places it down on the coffee table and sighs. “Please, Cecilia. Eat. I won’t let you make yourself sick over this. Just a little bit, okay? That’s all I’m asking.”

I peer his way as he begs, then pick up my plate and fork. I stab a piece of salmon and bring it to my mouth. Chewing is hard, swallowing even harder. I’m not hungry, but the desperation in his voice kills me.

After forty-five minutes, I’ve managed to eat a quarter of my plate and taken a few sips of water. I set it down and turn back to the window. He stands and walks over to collect it, letting out a small exhale when he sees how much is still left, but doesn’t push for more.

“Thank you,” he says quietly and goes to the kitchen to store the rest in the fridge, then does the dishes.

The rest of the evening plays out similarly, where he busies himself but always stays close by. Eventually, it’s late and he begins turning lights off around the house. He collects Milo once more and sends him outside, then returns to my side, sitting on the edge of the nook at my feet.

He goes to place his hand over my knee, but stops himself inches away and brings it back in. “Do you want to head up?”

I can’t go up there. The thought of sleeping in our bed, together, makes me nauseous. I shake my head, but don’t look at him as my eyes well with tears. Why won’t the tears stop coming?

“Okay...” he murmurs, then stands to let Milo in.

He disappears for a moment and returns with my bedroom pillow and a bigger blanket than the one I’ve been sleeping with. He comes to my side with the pillow in hand and waits. When I look up at him, he gestures to the throw pillow behind my back.

I scoot up and let him exchange one for the other, then rest back against the much comfier one. He takes the blanket from over my knees and lays the bigger one instead, tucking me in slightly while trying to refrain from touching me.

As I watch him fixing the blanket, he moves in quickly and kisses my forehead. I startle and look up with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t want me to touch you, but I had to... staying away from you like this is killing me, and I just needed to feel you. Even for just a second... it won’t happen again. I’m sorry...” he says, looking down despondently.

All I manage is to swallow as every emotion resurfaces within me. I can’t break down now, not in front of him. He finally leaves my side and goes back to the couch, turning on the TV but leaving the volume muted.

I’m not sure how much time it took me to fall asleep, but at some point, I wake up and it’s dark. The TV is now off, and Silas is asleep on the couch, a blanket hanging half off his body. I look at it for a while, then get up quietly.

Milo sleeps on his big doggy bed near the fireplace.

It’s the first time he’s left his spot on my lap willingly.

I walk over to Silas and pick up the blanket, placing it correctly over him.

He’s in a deep sleep and doesn’t even twitch as I reposition it on his body.

Then I kneel silently by his head and sit back on my calves.

I watch my beautiful husband sleep soundly on the couch because he didn’t want to leave me alone. I know he didn’t mean to do it. I know he never meant to hurt me. But the pain is still there, and because of it, we’re both suffering.

I hate this. I hate this feeling. I want to climb in and have him hold me and tell me that everything will be okay, that we’ll go back to normal. Back to him and I. Me and him forever. Like we promised.

But I can’t, I can’t just ignore it and pretend it never happened, pretend that I’m okay with this. I’m not ready to forgive him. Not yet.

So instead of climbing into the comfort of his arms, I brush a hair off his forehead and cry silently at his side, wishing we could go back to how we used to be.

SILAS

~ Two Weeks Later ~

It’s been two weeks since the incident, and life is still hell. I know I can’t expect it to go back to normal so quickly, but I didn’t expect this. Cecilia still isn’t talking to anyone and hasn’t gone back to work, either.

Her boss came by the house this week, and after seeing her state, she offered her another week off. But I’m afraid if she doesn’t snap out of it soon, she’ll lose her job.

There’s been a little progress at home, not much, but I’ll take it. Cecilia moves around a bit more. She hasn’t left the house, but she doesn’t stay in one spot all day, looking vacant. She even started sleeping in our room again after six days.

I think she was tired of seeing me sleep on the couch, but there was no way I was leaving her. So it was either our bed or the couch. She still won’t let me touch her, except for the occasional accidental touch, and it fucking sucks.

I miss my wife so much, and yet she’s standing right in front of me. I don’t know how to get through to her. I want to fix this, but if she won’t speak to me or let me touch her, it makes it a bit harder to do so.

I had doubts at first, especially that first day when she let Clay touch her but not me. It felt like I was dying. But then she agreed to stay here, and that was my first sign of hope. Then later that night when she came to the couch beside me while she thought I was sleeping, that confirmed it.

It broke my heart. Having to lie there, pretending to sleep while she poured her heart out for the better part of an hour. All I wanted was to take her in my arms, but I know she’s not ready. But the fact that she came to me showed she wants to work it out, and that’s what I keep reminding myself.

Even though she’s not verbally talking, her communication has upgraded. She nods and shakes her head most of the time when I ask her questions. And every once in a while, she answers texts from her friends and Clay.

They also drop by quite often to check on her, and every time we’re at away games, one of the girls comes and stays with Cecilia, never leaving her alone. It sucks, but I’m glad she has a support system.

Clay and I still aren’t talking, except when it’s related to hockey. Other than that, he completely ignores me. Emma glares at me every time she sees me, and Aubrey offers me sad smiles.

Morgan apologized for slapping me even though I deserved it, and is the only one talking to me, checking in on how I’m doing. Our friendship isn’t like it used to be, but I’m glad I at least still have her.

And then there’s Greyson, who’s been beating himself up since that night, blaming himself for forcing me out and taking more shots.

But the truth is, he didn’t force me. I could have easily declined and left.

Instead, I was an idiot who thought he could have it all.

And now I’m losing my wife and my friends. ..

My game has also been shit since, and we’ve hardly won any games. We’re on a major losing streak and Coach Jefferson is far from impressed. It’s probably why he ordered me to his office this morning after practice, and now I’m sitting here in front of him as he scans over my features.

“I take it things aren’t going well at home?” Coach starts off with. HA! That’s an understatement.

“What gave it away?” I say sarcastically.

“Don’t act cute with me, son.” I freaking hate when he calls me that. He’s literally four years older than me.

Usually, I’d make some joke about his comment and we’d both laugh. We’re lucky to have a good, down-to-earth coach that can joke around. But right now, I know it’s best to keep my tongue in my mouth.

“Your game is shit. Everyone is noticing, so do something. I’m giving you some slack because it’s only been two weeks, but you need to get your head back in the game, or else I won’t have a choice but to change things up,” he says strictly. I hate it, but he’s right.

I can’t keep going like this.

“I know, Coach. I’m trying, it’s just... it’s tough.” I drop my head and rub my hands over my face.

He’s quiet for a moment, studying me. “Talk to me, tell me what’s going on. And not as your coach, but as your friend. We’re not Coach and Hayes right now, just Shane and Silas. Maybe together we can come up with something.”

I take a deep breath and clear my throat while I collect my thoughts. Talking about it is hard. With my parents constantly on my back about the whole thing and at least one of my teammates asking how things are going once a day, I feel like my love life is everyone’s business lately, and I hate it.

Hell, even the media showed up a few times outside our house, looking for information and asking where Cecilia was and if we’re getting divorced. I don’t want to talk about it anymore because there’s nothing to say, it’s just shit. That’s all.

But this is Coach, he’s a good guy with a big heart. I know he’s just trying to help, and since he’s been married before, maybe he has some advice that could help with my situation.