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Chapter Fifty-One

Maggie

I keep telling myself I’m imagining it. The way his arms stay loose around me instead of pulling me close. The way his kisses don’t linger as long as they used to. The way he’s always the first to let go.

But I’m not imagining it. It’s real. And it's not just occasionally.

I confronted him about it one time. “You’re pulling away.”

He scoffed, shook his head. “I’m not.”

Another time, I asked again, and his expression softened, his long fingers brushing my jaw. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Another time, he snapped. “Jesus, Maggie. Why do you always have to over-analyze everything?”

But most of the time, I don’t ask at all.

It’s like watching the tide pull back before the storm. Like knowing the swell is coming and still standing there enthralled by the beauty of the rolling wave, knowing it has the ability to drown you.