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GUSHING

F or a couple of weeks, things feel almost normal—as normal as life with Timmy can be, anyway. He’s relaxed, funny, affectionate. He keeps his word on the little things—cooking meals we both enjoy, cleaning without being asked, remembering my preferences in small but meaningful ways. He brings me a beautiful shell from the beach one day, holding it up with pride like he’s found buried treasure just for me.

We swim together most afternoons, splashing around like carefree kids. His laughter is infectious, and it’s hard not to feel charmed when he pulls me close, kisses me with genuine affection, and tells me how lucky he feels to have me. It feels like a balm to my frayed nerves, soothing the chaos that’s been swirling around us for so long.

Our sex life is back to being incredible. Every day, without fail, he goes down on me with enthusiasm, as if it’s his new favorite hobby.

There’s a spark of playfulness between us that had been missing for a while, and I find myself relaxing just a little bit more each day.

I start thinking that maybe this move really was the right thing for us, and we’re finally turning that corner that always seemed just slightly out of reach.

Of course, I’m still careful around him. I have to be mindful of how I speak, how I ask for things. I’ve learned to monitor my tone and delivery, softening my edges so I don’t trigger one of his moods. It’s something I’ve become hyper-aware of—like walking a tightrope without a safety net.

But part of me wonders if this is just something I need to work on, my own growth edge. Maybe I’ve always been a bit too blunt, too demanding, and perhaps this is what compromise looks like in a healthy relationship. Maybe this is growth for both of us. After all, Timmy has admitted many times that he’s sensitive, that words can hurt him deeply, and he seems to genuinely want me to adjust for his sake as he appears to be doing for mine. It feels like a fair ask.

When Timmy calls his parents, he still always makes sure to sing my praises.

“Margaux has changed my life, Mom and Dad. She got me to quit smoking, which I honestly thought I’d never do. She’s literally extended my life by years.” He beams at me as he speaks. “And she’s been planning all these hikes and outdoor activities to keep us healthy. I’m so lucky to have her. I love her so much.” He leans over to kiss me sweetly on the cheek, smiling at me with those soft, sparkling blue eyes I fell in love with.

“That’s wonderful, son,” his father replies warmly, but then comes the question that always lingers in the air like a storm cloud. “So… do you have a job yet?”

Timmy grimaces, but his voice stays upbeat. “I’m working on my graphic design stuff, Dad. You know these things take time.”

His father doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, you should probably find a job in the meantime. It’s important to contribute.”

“Yes, Dad, I know. I will. Thanks for reminding me,” Timmy replies, his tone light and agreeable, though there’s an edge of impatience lurking beneath it.

I sit quietly through the exchange, feeling both validated and unsettled. It’s a relief to know his father is nudging him toward responsibility, but there’s also something about the conversation that doesn’t sit right with me. It feels... juvenile. Like a grown man being coaxed out of bed by his parents—it reminds me of a boss I once had who had to call his mid-twenties son every morning just to make sure he got to work on time. It’s unsettling. Why does Timmy need this much pushing to do what’s expected of any adult?

But still, things have been good between us, and I want to hold on to that. I want to believe that this is the new normal—that we’re finally— finally— settled into the kind of relationship I’d been hoping for.

And yet…there’s another growing knot in my stomach.

It’s subtle at first—just a nagging, creeping sensation. But now that I’m hyper-attuned to Timmy’s patterns, I can sense something shifting beneath the surface. The manic energy is starting to bubble again. It’s not quite here yet, but, somehow, I can tell that it’s coming.

I’ve seen this play out before. We’ve been through this cycle too many times for me to ignore it. First, Timmy realizes he’s been a bit of an ass. He drops his defenses, apologizes profusely, and treats me with kindness and affection. There’s a honeymoon phase—a week or two where things are great, and I think maybe, just maybe, things are changing.

And then... something sets him off.

It’s often something seemingly harmless—his own decision to deep-clean the apartment or reorganize the kitchen. He’ll throw himself into it with manic energy, insisting it’s for both of us, a way to make our space more functional and inviting. But somewhere along the way, things twist.

He becomes irritable, snapping over small things. Suddenly, the goodwill he’d built evaporates, and it’s as if those one to two good weeks give him permission to behave badly for the next however long. It’s a pendulum, swinging back and forth. And right now, I can feel the shift beginning, like the moment before a storm breaks.

Timmy is still sweet and affectionate most of the time. He makes me laugh, cooks me dinner, and cuddles me until I fall asleep. But there’s an edge to his energy again now—a restlessness that makes my skin prickle.

It’s in the way he taps his fingers against the table, a little too fast. The way he starts projects and abandons them halfway through. The way he paces the apartment, muttering to himself.

I try to push the unease aside, telling myself that I’m overthinking it. But the bile rises in my throat every time I catch a glimpse of that manic gleam in his eyes. Something is brewing. And this time, I’m scared it’s going to be worse than before.

I hate that I feel this way, that I’m always bracing for impact, waiting for the moment when the switch flips and everything falls apart again.

It’s exhausting, constantly analyzing his moods, walking on eggshells to avoid triggering an outburst. And yet, I keep doing it. Because the good moments—the laughter, the affection, the way he holds me like I’m the most precious thing in the world—those moments make it feel worth it.

But how long can I keep riding this roller coaster? How many more times can I convince myself that the good will eventually outweigh the bad?

Because I know the pattern now. I can see it coming, like dark clouds on the horizon. And this time, it feels bigger, heavier—like a storm that’s going to break harder than ever before.

The scariest part is, at this point, I know I’ll stay. At least for now. And he seems to know it too. Because I love him, and I want to believe in him.

But deep down, I’m not sure how much longer I can keep convincing myself that love is enough.