Page 22

He sighs, already turning away. “Jesus, can we not do this right now?” He reaches past me for the fridge door, still avoiding my eyes.

“Do what?” I press, the edge creeping in despite myself. “Talk? A normal conversation without it turning into—whatever the hell this is?”

Another sharp exhale through his nose, as if I’m exhausting. Like concern is a personal attack. “I don’t need to be interrogated the second I walk through the door.”

That word— interrogated —lands like a slap. Cold and dismissive. It freezes something inside of me.

I should walk away. Should let it go. But instead, I step forward, closing the space between us. My fingers finding the loosened knot of his tie.

“David,” I murmur. “I missed you. That’s all. It’s been two days. You’re always working away lately.”

I tug the tie loose, undo the top button of his shirt, then the next. My fingertips brush against his skin. Warm. Familiar. But still, he feels miles away.

“You’re tense,” I whisper, leaning in to press a kiss to his neck.

His hands settle on my hips. Not pulling me closer. Just... resting there. Like habit.

I lift my face to his. Kiss the edge of his jaw, then trace my mouth toward his lips. Waiting. Hoping. His forehead presses gently to mine.

But then he exhales and steps back.

The cold hits instantly.

“Ellie,” he says, voice frayed at the edges. “I’m shattered. This isn’t the time.”

I go still, my hands falling to the hem of his shirt. “For what?” I ask. “ Sex ? Is that all you think I want?”

My voice is too sharp. Too brittle. But I can’t help it.

“I just want to be close to you,” I say, softer now.

He exhales again, slower this time. Still won’t look at me.

“I miss you,” I admit. “Not your body— you .”

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. The silence expands—thick with everything we aren’t saying.

I let my hands fall away. The ache sets in fast.

He rolls his shoulders, like he’s trying to shake off more than a long day. “I need a shower,” he mutters. “And I’ve got stuff to catch up on.”

Not work . Just… stuff .

He leans in automatically, pressing a kiss to my forehead. But it barely lands. A motion without meaning.

Then he turns and walks out. Up the stairs. Gone.

I stare at the space he leaves behind. The quiet rushes in like water.

And just like that, whatever I was hoping for—connection, warmth, anything—is gone.

As the evening gave way to the night, the house slipped into a heavy quiet.

The TV is off, the blankets Mia and I were wrapped in are folded neatly over the sofa’s armrest, and the popcorn bowl is drying on the rack. The only sound now is the soft whirling of the dishwasher, and even that feels too loud in the stillness.

I move through it on autopilot, wiping counters that are already clean, straightening cushions, folding a tea towel over the oven handle. It’s not about tidying. It’s about making sense of something when nothing else does.

I pick up my phone from where I left it beside the sink. One new message.

Naomi [23:12]

Girl! I just went on the BEST date ever. Junior doctor. Seriously – he’s a 10!

A breath of laughter escapes me, barely a sound, more an exhale of disbelief. Of course she did. Leave it to Naomi to find a whole-ass rom-com subplot after every shift. She’s magnetic like that.

I dry my hands and type out a reply.

you always do find the best ones, don’t you?

Naomi [23:13]

Can’t help it. Still grinning. He was hot. AND he paid. In full.

Her joy feels like it’s coming from a different universe. One I remember living in once. Before the silence. Before the rejection. Before David became a stranger in a house we both still pretend feels like home.

And still—I stay.

Because sometimes, when the light hits just right, I get a glimmer of the man I fell in love with. The one who made me laugh without trying, who used to make me feel like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.

He’s still in there, somewhere.

Or maybe I’ve just convinced myself he is.

Four years is a long time to give to someone. Long enough for memories to outweigh reality. Long enough that you stop noticing the shift until one day you’re waking up next to someone who doesn’t see you anymore.

But I want that feeling back.

I want him back.

And that hope—that ache—is sometimes louder than the voice in my head telling me it’s already gone.

I’m happy for you, Nay. You deserve that. Tell me everything tomorrow?

Naomi [23:15]

Of course. But what about you? How was your night?

My fingers hover over the screen. I could lie. Say it was quiet. Say it was fine. But the truth pushes forward.

David’s home. But he was off. Snapped at me.

I stare at it. Then, I hit send. Her response is immediate.

Naomi [23:19]

What an ass hat!!

I let out a low laugh, the kind that stings a little on its way out.

I just wanted to feel like we were still… us. I don’t know. I reached for him. He pulled away

Naomi [23:21]

That sucks, Ellie. You deserve someone who reaches back. Every time. Not just when it’s easy.

I press the screen to my chest for a moment, like her words might sink in deeper if I hold them there.

Naomi [23:22]

You’re doing more than enough Ellie. Don’t let him make you feel like you’re the problem.

I blink against the sudden burn in my eyes, set the phone down on the worktop, and lean against it, palms flat, eyes tracing the pattern of the tiled backsplash like it might offer some kind of answer.

Naomi’s words linger, curling around me in the quiet. You deserve someone who reaches back. It’s such a simple sentence. Obvious, even. But it lands somewhere deep. Somewhere I’ve been avoiding.

Because when was the last time David reached for me? Without a motive. Without whiskey in his veins. Without it being about smoothing things over or saving face.

I’ve been carrying so much. This relationship, this house, Mia’s entire world, my future.

Juggling it all like a one-woman balancing act.

And somehow, I’ve kept convincing myself that if I just try a little harder, bend a little further, it’ll all fall into place.

That if I keep folding myself into the shape he wants, he’ll look at me the way he used to. Like he actually sees me.

But what if he’s not looking? What if he stopped looking a long time ago?

I rub my hands over my face, chasing away the sting building behind my eyes.

Eventually, I straighten, switch off the kitchen light, and move toward the stairs. My body feels slower. My breath a little tighter. But I climb anyway.

The house gives out as I move through it. Floorboards shift beneath my steps. The hallway clock ticks. Outside, the faint rustle of tree branches scrape against the window at the top of the stairs.

Darkness cloaks the hallway upstairs. I don’t want to disturb the stillness, so I leave the light switched off, and I don’t want to name whatever this feeling is building in my chest.

The bedroom door is ajar, and I ease it open, half-expecting to find the bed empty, the glow of David’s office still visible under the door down the hall.

But he’s here. Already asleep. Curled onto his side, arm tucked under the pillow, the duvet pulled halfway up his chest. His face is turned toward the door, the sharp lines of his jaw softened in the dark. He looks peaceful. Almost boyish in sleep. Beautiful even.

I stand in the doorway for a few moments longer than I need to. Just… watching. Letting the doubt settle into something duller. Something I can hold.

Then I tiptoe through the room, changing into one of my oversized sleep shirts. Soft cotton. Faded edges. Comfort in the familiar.

I slip beneath the covers, careful not to jostle the mattress. The crisp cotton sheets are smooth against my skin and the space beside me holds the warmth of his body. I roll onto my side, facing away, the scent of his skin faint but familiar, and close my eyes.

Then, the weight of his arm, a comforting pressure, settles around my waist.

The contact startles me for a second. His palm, warm as summer stone, rests steady against my stomach, guiding me back into his embrace.

I let him hold me.

His breath is steady at my neck. The weight of his presence is grounding in a way that almost tricks me into believing everything is okay.

A stray tear glides down my cheek, falling onto my pillow. Then I close my eyes, allowing myself to lean into the moment.

His hand moves without hesitation, slipping beneath my shirt like it’s done it a hundred times before. Fingers skim the curve of my hip, trail along the edge of a rib, climb higher in slow, deliberate strokes.

“I’m sorry, Ellie.” He murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

I don’t answer. Because I don’t know if it’s an apology for snapping at me, or for something bigger.

But when his lips press against my neck, lingering there, trailing lower, heat blooms inside me.

He slides his hand up my stomach until his fingers find the curve of my breast. His touch, feather-light.

I turn toward him and our mouths meet halfway. Slow at first, exploratory, then deeper. Hungrier. He kisses like he’s trying to reclaim something, and I let him. I don’t overthink it.

Because part of me wants this too. Or needs it, maybe.

Needs the closeness. The confirmation.

Maybe if I give enough, he’ll stay.

Maybe if I stay close, he won’t pull away again.

My fingers curl into his hair as his hand finds my thigh, gripping, grounding. He palms my ass and tugs me closer, our bodies aligning in slow, measured waves. The heat builds between us—familiar, muscle-deep, but still just out of reach.

He pushes the fabric of my sleep shirt higher, hands roaming like they used to. Like he already knows the map of me. I let my eyes fall closed. Let the sound of his breath in my ear drown out the quiet doubts still whispering at the edges of my mind.

Because in the dark, it’s easier to forget.

There was a time this felt like love.

When closeness meant connection.

When the weight of his desire made me feel seen. Wanted. Chosen.

But now? Now there’s distance even in the heat. A hollowness behind the pull.

Like we’re reaching for each other through fog.

I close my eyes. My breath stutters. And I wait for it to feel like something more. To feel like it used to. To feel real.

Even though somewhere deep down, I already know how this ends.

With me lying awake after.

Staring at the ceiling.

Wondering how something can feel so familiar… and still leave me feeling so far away.