CHAPTER FIFTEEN #4
Something inside me cracks wide open. Because I’ve spent so long feeling unseen, unheard, like I was disappearing under the weight of motherhood and expectations and my own guilt. But right now, Dan sees me. Really sees me.
A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it, and his hand moves instinctively to brush it away. Without thinking, I catch his wrist, holding it there against my face. His touch is warm, grounding. And for the first time in a long time, I let myself lean into it.
Dan lets out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. I can see the conflict in his face, the weight of everything I’ve just told him pressing down on him. But then, he surprises me.
"I wish I could help more with the school stuff," he says, voice low, almost ashamed. "I know it all falls on you. The emails, the forms, the reminders. And it’s not that I don’t care, I do, but, honestly? It overwhelms me."
I blink at him, not expecting that.
"There’s just… so much," he continues. "So many messages, so many dates to remember. I open my inbox, and it’s this endless stream of things that need doing, and I don’t even know where to start.
And because you’ve always handled it, I just..
." he exhales heavily, "I let you." He shakes his head.
"I didn’t realise how much pressure that was putting on you. "
I press my lips together, because part of me wants to say yes, exactly, but another part of me softens at his honesty. Because I get it. I really do.
He rubs a hand over his face before looking at me again.
"And the house… I do try, Emma. I swear, I try. But I don’t see the mess the way you do.
I see a mostly tidy house, and you see the tiny pile of clutter in the corner and it stresses you out.
And I get that it’s a big deal to you. It’s just never been to me.
As long as we can move around, as long as things are functional, it feels fine to me.
But I hear you. I do. I’ll try harder to notice the little things, the things that bother you. "
I nod, swallowing against the lump in my throat.
"But, also…" he hesitates, like he’s unsure if he should say this next part. "Sometimes, I do try. I load the dishwasher or fold the laundry or clean up, and it’s like..." he shrugs, "I’ve done it wrong. Or it’s not good enough. And I know, I know you do a million things a day without a thank you, and I don’t expect a medal, I really don’t.
But sometimes, it would be nice to feel… I don’t know, appreciated?"
His voice is careful, measured, like he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing. But it’s not wrong. It’s fair.
I let out a slow breath and squeeze his hand. "I hear you too."
And I do. Maybe for the first time in a long time, I really do.
Dan exhales slowly, his fingers tightening around mine like he’s steadying himself. His eyes flicker over my face, and there’s something in them, something raw, something vulnerable, that makes my breath catch.
"I think you’re beautiful, Emma."
My instinct is to shake my head, to roll my eyes, to deflect. But he doesn’t let me.
"No. Listen to me. You are more than beautiful. I am so ridiculously attracted to you, no matter how much dry shampoo you have in your hair, no matter if you’re in old leggings or if you haven’t had time to put on mascara.
None of that changes the way I see you. And it’s not just that; I love you.
I love you. Who you are, the way you think, the way you care, the way you fight for everyone else before yourself. "
He swallows, eyes searching mine.
"I want to tell you these things all the time, but it feels like there’s this… wall between us. Like if I say it, you’ll take it the wrong way or push me away. And I don’t know how to get past that. I don’t know how to make you believe me."
I look down, my chest aching, because I don’t know either.
There’s a long pause before he sighs. "Emma… why do you hold your wees in?"
I blink, caught off guard. "What?"
"I mean it," he says, shaking his head. "You’ll be bouncing your leg, clearly uncomfortable, and I’ll ask if you need the toilet, and you’ll say you don’t have time.
Or you’ll finally go and then come back and say you feel so much better, like it’s some big revelation.
Emma, you need to start putting yourself first sometimes. "
I let out a soft laugh, but there’s no judgment in his face. Only concern.
"I get it," he continues. "I get that if you stop, if you take a second for yourself, things might not get done. But so what? Let them not get done. Or let me do them. You don’t have to do everything. I want to help. I’ll happily do whatever needs to be done.
But you have to let yourself be a person first, not just… everything for everyone else."
His words settle over me, heavy and warm all at once. And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m carrying it all alone.
I let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of everything I've been carrying. I look at Dan, his eyes still full of hope and worry, and I know he means well. But I have to be honest.
"Dan, I do want you to help," I say, my voice quiet but steady. "It’s just that, I'm exhausted. I don’t have the energy to tell you what needs to be done every time. I don’t want to write out a list or explain how to cook a casserole and then answer a million questions.
I just need you to use your initiative sometimes. "
I pause, searching his face for understanding.
"Every day, there’s a new thing; the clutter in the corner, the endless emails from school, the meal planning.
And if I have to spell out each little detail, it just becomes too much.
I take on everything because the alternative is even more exhausting.
I need you to step in without me having to break it all down for you. "
My words hang in the air, and I can feel the tension easing just a little as Dan listens.
I want him to know that it isn’t about not trusting him, but about the constant strain of managing everything on my own.
"I need you to see what I see, Dan. Not every little mess is just a mess to you, it’s my mountain.
And if you could help carry that, even without all the instructions, it would mean the world to me. "
Dan sighs, rubbing his hands over his face before looking at me again. There’s no anger in his expression, just this deep, tired kind of frustration like he’s trying to piece everything together, trying to make sense of how we got here.
"Emma, I ask so many questions because I don’t want to get it wrong," he says.
"So many times, I have done things, and you’ve moaned that I did it the wrong way or not how you would have done it.
And I get it, I do. You have a system, a way of doing things.
But after a while, it just made me second-guess everything. "
He shakes his head. "I don’t want to mess up, so I ask. And then when I ask, it annoys you. So I just… end up feeling like I can’t win either way."
I open my mouth to respond, but he keeps going, his voice softer now.
"It just seems like this has all come down to a lack of communication for far too long. You’ve been feeling like you have to do everything, and I’ve been feeling like whatever I do isn’t right.
And instead of talking about it, we’ve just let it build.
You’ve thrown passive-aggressive digs my way, and I’ve probably done the same without even realising it. And now here we are."
He lets out a breath, shaking his head. "I’m glad it’s all out now. I really am. But I just wish instead of snide comments or eye rolls, we could’ve just talked about it all along."
His words land heavily, and I feel something shift in my chest. Because he’s right. We should have talked about it sooner. But we’re talking now. And maybe that’s what matters most.
I nod slowly, feeling the truth of his words settle deep in my chest. "You’re right," I say, my voice quiet but certain. "We should have talked about this a long time ago."
Dan watches me, waiting, listening.
"The point scoring has to stop," I continue. "The little digs, the keeping track of who’s done what, the constant competition over who’s more tired, who’s done more, who has it worse; it’s exhausting, Dan. And it’s not helping either of us."
He exhales, nodding.
"We need to be a team going forward," I say, and I feel a lump rise in my throat because I mean it, so deeply. "If something is bothering one of us, we need to say it. Not with accusations, not with defensiveness, but just say it. We have to actually listen to each other instead of assuming the worst. I don’t want to keep doing this. I don’t want to keep feeling like we’re on opposite sides. "
Dan reaches for my hand again, his grip warm and steady. "Neither do I," he says. And for the first time in a long time, I believe him.
A weight I didn’t even realise I was carrying seems to lift from my shoulders. Suddenly, everything feels lighter. Like the struggles of our marriage, the unspoken resentment, the exhaustion of feeling alone in this, all of it has been halved. It’s no longer just mine to carry.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t feel like I’m fighting against Dan. I feel like we’re in this together. Like we’re finally a team.
I glance at him, and there’s something different in his expression.
A softness, a warmth I’ve missed so much.
Without thinking, I lean in, pressing a small, grateful peck against his lips.
It’s brief, barely a second, but as I start to pull away, his hand moves to the side of my neck, his fingers curling gently against my skin.
And then he kisses me.
Not a quick kiss, not a habitual kiss, but a real kiss. A deep, slow, hungry kiss that steals the breath right out of my lungs. It’s so sudden, so unexpected, that my whole body melts into him before I can even think.
A warmth spreads through me, head to toe, and my stomach flips with a rush of butterflies I haven’t felt in so long. It’s like being nineteen again, like being caught up in the whirlwind of him, the pull of him.
When we finally break apart, I realise my cheeks are burning. I’m actually blushing. Because God, when was the last time he kissed me like that?
Dan smirks slightly, his thumb brushing over my skin, like he knows exactly what he’s done to me. And for the first time in forever, I don’t feel like just Mum or the household manager or the invisible force holding everything together.
I feel like Emma. And I feel wanted.