Chapter 3
Jayne
Iwake when his alarm goes off while he reaches over, silences his phone, and rolls away from it.
I give him a moment before I shake him gently. “Rhys, baby, time to get up.”
It’s always been this way. His alarm goes off. I wake up. I wake him up.
It’s my role in our marriage…to make sure he isn’t late. Late to class, late for a shift, late for surgery. I’ve been setting his mornings in motion since we started sleeping together a million years ago.
And now, I do the same for our kids. On time for school. On time for soccer. On time for gymnastics.
When exactly do I get to sleep through an alarm?
When does someone tell me to sleep in, to rest, to stop running for once? When does someone touch my shoulder in the morning and whisper, ”Don’t worry, darling. I’ve got it today”?
Rhys tumbles out of bed and goes straight into the bathroom.
I use the guest bathroom, where I keep a toothbrush to start my day.
I move through the kitchen by muscle memory.
Coffee first, then breakfast.
Eggs, toast, and a banana.
Rhys will be working straight through until late afternoon, maybe later. I make sure he gets something in him so he’s not living off hospital coffee and protein bars, which I also make sure he has in his bag.
The stairs creak as he comes down, hair damp from his shower.
“Morning,” I say.
“Morning.”
His voice is rough with sleep, distracted. He checks his messages as he reaches for the coffee I’ve set out. Black, two sugars.
Does he know how I take my coffee? Would he heat the milk in the microwave before adding it to my cup?
“Thanks,” he mutters. It’s not gratitude, it’s an automatic reflex.
He sits at the kitchen island, scrolling while he eats. Fork in one hand, phone in the other. The only sounds are the scrape of cutlery against the plate and the quiet hum of the refrigerator.
Neither of us mentions last night. Not the argument. Not his insulting apology.
We move on, smooth it over, keep things running, like a patient bleeding out on the table, until…when? Until there’s nothing left to save?
“Big day?” I ask, just to fill the air because I’m suffocating.
He nods, still looking at his screen. “Triple bypass at six. Valve replacement at nine. Then I’ve got that pediatric transplant consult. Kid’s twelve—tiny chest, complicated anatomy. They’ve been waiting weeks to get her on the schedule.”
He doesn’t know when Finn’s practice ends, but he knows his patients’ files.
His tone softens, just a little, as I remember why I fell in love with him. His passion to take care of people.
But then he speaks, and the feeling evaporates faster than disinfectant on skin. “I’ll be home late,” he announces.
“Okay.”
He glances up, finally meeting my eyes. “I’ll try and make dinner. Depends on how the second case goes.”
He says it like he’ll be doing me a favor by eating dinner with his family. “Okay,” I repeat.
He finishes his coffee. “I don’t want us to fight when I get home tonight.” His voice is careful, rehearsed. “Yesterday was…I don’t know. I just don’t need that kind of energy before a big day.”
And every day is a big day in Mr. Cardio God’s life!
“I won’t ask you to pick up Finn again.” I keep my tone level, but honestly, I want to throw something at him.
He sighs. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something. Then he closes it. Checks his watch instead. “I have to go.”
“Have a nice day.”
He kisses my cheek. He always does. It’s also automatic.
He hesitates for a moment at the door, smiles at me. “Have a nice day, baby.”
Then he leaves. The door clicks shut behind him, and the house falls silent again.
No kids up yet. No noise. Just me, the coffee maker, and the faint smell of his aftershave and the loud sound of our silent fight, the words we didn’t say.
As an almost single mother, because that’s what I am, I don’t have time to dwell on this. I have to get ready. I have to wake the kids up. Get them to eat a nutritious breakfast. Drive them to school and then get to work, all by eight in the morning.
I’m running an endless marathon on weekdays.
On weekends, I have to go to the farmer’s market to stock up the fridge, get the laundry going, do the grocery shopping, thankfully online, and make sure the kids have everything they need. This weekend, Mikaela needs new tights and Finn needs new sneakers, so we may have to go to the mall.
If Rhys is not on call, or even if he is, he starts his weekends in the gym. Even at work, he tries to make sure he gets at least half an hour at the hospital gym for a workout.
When was the last time I went to a gym that didn’t involve picking up or dropping off the kids?
Never.
I think I should get a personal trainer and get this forty-plus-year body into some shape, but I never seem to have the time to. My friends have the time…they have spa weekends, but then their husbands are not Rhys.
“Surgeon or not, Jayne, he’s fucking selfish,” my friend Iris says whenever I tell her why I can’t make another girls’ night.
“He’s just swamped,” I protest.
“We’re all swamped, Jayne, but you deserve to have a life and some fun.”
So, after I drop the kids off, I make a decision. I call Iris on my way to the office.
“Hey, babe, what’s up?”
“You still going to Elk Room Friday night with the girls?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to join you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you had something with the hospital?” She sounds suspicious, and I don’t blame her.
“Fuck that,” I mutter.
“Hallelujah!” Iris is thrilled.
I hang up and walk into work, lighter than I’ve felt in weeks.
Every time I try to go out with my friends, something blocks me. This weekend, the hospital is throwing some big to-do, and I’m expected to spend my Friday night schmoozing with his people. I don’t want that. I want mine.
He gets to have fun—so why the hell can’t I? The thought burns as I march into the office.
It’s barely eight in the morning, and the place is quiet.
I’m usually the first one in. As the office manager, I supervise all the secretaries and legal aides, and technically, I could have someone else open up.
But I like doing it. I like being the one to flip on the lights, to start up Cole & Associates.
I grab a coffee from the machine in the break room—this time it’s coffee for pleasure, not survival—and enter my office. It’s small but bright, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of downtown Baltimore waking up.
I power up my computer, check the day’s calendar, and scan the firm-wide schedule.
Three client meetings, two court appearances, a dozen filing deadlines, and the Fairmont Pharma case, which is still eating everyone alive.
Before long, my inbox starts filling.
Overnight updates from associates, client inquiries, and half a dozen “quick questions” from paralegals that aren’t quick at all.
Within the next half hour, I’ve already answered several emails, reviewed the supply order, fixed the printer’s settings someone helpfully changed, and scheduled a repair for the backup copier.
Soon, the elevator dings, and people start filtering in, shedding coats, clutching lattes, juggling phones.
“Morning, Jayne,” someone calls.
“Morning,” I reply, already halfway through approving a court filing.
Cole & Associates may have a dozen high-powered attorneys with corner offices, but I keep the place running, and I’m damn good at it.
I know which judge prefers paper filings, which client needs hand-holding before a deposition, and which attorney’s going to forget to submit their time sheets until the last possible second.
By the time Daniel Cole walks in, his tie askew, phone pressed to his ear, the office is animated. Phones ringing, printers whirring, the low murmur of voices building like a pulse.
This is the part I love most. The rhythm, the purpose, the quiet satisfaction of knowing that I helped make it happen.
Here, I’m respected for my abilities, for juggling schedules, managing chaos, and staying calm under pressure. At home, I’m expected to do all that, too, only without acknowledgment.
At home, no one notices when I keep everything from falling apart.
Here, they do.
“Morning, boss lady,” calls out Tamika, our junior paralegal, as she passes by with a stack of case files teetering in her arms.
“Morning, Tam. You working out with those files?”
She grins. “Building muscles.” Then she leans against my doorway. “I need your help.”
“Shoot.”
She does, and it’s satisfying as hell to be able to solve her problem. Her appreciation is oxygen!
Daniel’s office door is open when I walk by, and he waves me in.
“I think I messed up that filing last evening.” He’s always in motion, brain five steps ahead of the room. But he relies on me to save him from himself.
“I fixed it,” I tell him.
He looks at me and smiles. “What would I do without you?”
I wave a hand, flushing. “You’d be fine.”
“I don’t think any of us would be fine without you,” he says softly. “You’re Super Woman. You got a husband, two kids, PTA nonsense, and work…and you do it all…fabulously. I don’t know how you do it. I can barely keep my dog fed.”
It is so good to hear him say this, especially since I know he means it.
Why can’t Rhys see this? Why can’t he appreciate me? Why does he want me to quit my job, the one that keeps me sane?
“You have a dog walker, so, thankfully, Bruno is going to survive.” I found him a dog walker because Bruno was chewing up the house and going stir-crazy.
He grins, conceding. “Thank God! How’s discovery going on the Fairmont Pharma case?”
“About as well as expected when a billion-dollar company claims they accidentally misplaced two years of internal emails.”
He laughs—a warm, easy sound that fills the room. “That’s why I keep you around. No one else can make obstruction of justice sound so charming.”
I arch an eyebrow dramatically. “Charm, Mr. Cole, is part of the strategy.”
We work well together. Daniel’s smart, fair, and—most importantly—he listens. When I talk, he pays attention. When I suggest something, he considers it. There’s no ego at war here, no invisible labor.
He glances up from his papers. “You doing okay?”
It’s casual, but the way he asks makes me pause. I open my mouth to say I’m fine, my default, but something about what happened with Rhys makes me say, “Not really. Things are…weird at home.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “What’s going on? Kids okay?”
“Kids are fine.” I shake my head, feeling stupid for bringing it up. “Just…I had to leave in the middle of things yesterday and—”
“That’s fine, Jayne. Finn was waiting in the cold.”
I nod.
He gives me a measured look and then nods once, pursing his lips. “Ah. You’re pissed with Rhys.”
“Yes.”
He lets out a long sigh. “Finally! Honestly, I don’t know how you haven’t been angry with him all the time. The man is…” He trails off before saying something he’d regret.
Daniel is a lawyer, after all
Everyone in my circle thinks Rhys is selfish. I defend him, obsessively, but lately I’m struggling to do that.
“I’m…managing,” I say finally.
“Managing?” he repeats, smiling gently. “Is that code for…?”
“Exhausted with a side of caffeine dependency.” I try to lighten the mood and tacitly tell him I don’t want to discuss my marriage —not right now, even though I’m the one who brought it up.
His eyes fill with quiet understanding and acceptance. “Should we prep for the pretrial meeting tomorrow?”
“Yes, we should.”
He leans forward, his hands on his desk. “You know you hold this place together, don’t you, Jayne?”
“Someone has to, while you’re out avoiding contempt citations from judges.” I roll my eyes even as I soften inside.
He scowls. “That happened one time.”
“I know. And you’ll never live it down as long as I’m alive.”
After our meeting, I stop by interns’ desks at the bullpen to check in with them.
They adore me. I know it sounds like I’m blowing my own horn, but they do.
I offer advice when they ask, we share jokes, and I help them.
There’s warmth here, banter, a sense of belonging.
People greet me warmly, ask for (and appreciate) my opinion, and tell me about their weekends.
At home, I’m the maid, the scheduler, the reminder app.
Here, I’m the engine. The center of gravity.
Around noon, I’m sipping my third cup and catch my reflection in the window.
I look happy.
How come I never look like this at home?
You do, Jayne, with the kids.
But….
Just not with Rhys, not anymore.