Chapter 12 Too Much Like a Wife #2
“I figured you might want to make it the way you like.”
Alex stared at the machine for a second.
Jamie had never forgotten his morning coffee.
Not once.
“It’s… fine.”
“I bought fresh beans yesterday.”
Jamie nodded toward the pantry.
“They’re on the second shelf.”
Alex mumbled a quiet thank you before beginning the unfamiliar routine himself.
Grinding the beans.
Measuring them.
Waiting for the machine to finish.
The apartment felt strangely silent.
Usually Jamie chatted while preparing breakfast.
Sometimes he talked about a new recipe he wanted to try.
Other mornings he complained about impossible photography clients or laughed about Emma sending ridiculous memes before sunrise.
Today there was only the sound of dripping coffee.
Jamie finished eating first.
“I’m leaving a little early.”
Alex looked up.
“I thought we usually drove together.”
“I have a meeting across town.”
Jamie picked up his keys.
“You don’t have to wait for me tonight either. I might be working late.”
Before Alex could answer, Jamie smiled politely and walked out the door.
The apartment became quiet again.
Alex stood alone in the kitchen holding a mug of coffee that somehow didn’t taste nearly as good as usual.
He told himself not to overthink it.
Jamie was simply giving him space.
Wasn’t that what he’d wanted?
At work, Alex reached for his phone around eleven o’clock.
Every Tuesday for nearly four months, a message always appeared at exactly the same time.
Lunch.
Don’t forget to eat.
Sometimes Jamie added a smiling emoji.
Sometimes he attached a picture of whatever he had baked that morning.
Alex smiled every time he saw it.
At eleven-fifteen, nothing appeared.
He looked at the phone again.
Still nothing.
By noon, he realized he had forgotten to eat altogether.
Chris walked into his office carrying sandwiches.
“You coming?”
Alex blinked.
“For what?”
“Lunch.”
“Oh.”
Alex looked at the clock in surprise.
“I didn’t realize it was already noon.”
Chris frowned.
“Jamie usually reminds you, doesn’t he?”
Alex smiled weakly.
“Not today.”
Chris looked at him curiously but didn’t ask another question.
That evening, Alex returned home expecting the familiar sounds of dinner being prepared.
The apartment greeted him with silence.
A small note rested on the kitchen counter.
Working late.
There’s leftover soup in the refrigerator if you want it.
—Jamie
Alex opened the refrigerator.
The soup was there.
Neatly labeled.
Prepared days ago before their argument.
He stared at it for several seconds before quietly closing the door.
Instead, he ordered takeout.
The delivery arrived forty minutes later.
He carried the paper bag to the dining table and opened it.
The food smelled fine.
It tasted like absolutely nothing.
Halfway through dinner, he realized he had automatically set two plates on the table.
He quietly returned the second plate to the cupboard.
Jamie came home nearly two hours later.
Alex looked up hopefully from the sofa.
“Hey.”
Jamie smiled politely.
“Hi.”
“Long day?”
“It was.”
Alex waited.
Normally Jamie would’ve dropped onto the sofa and spent twenty minutes describing everything that had happened.
Instead, Jamie headed toward the hallway.
“I’m pretty tired.”
“Oh.”
Alex nodded.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
The bedroom door closed softly.
The apartment became quiet once again.
The following days continued in much the same way.
Jamie remained kind.
Polite.
Friendly.
But there was now an invisible wall between them.
Breakfast became separate.
Dinner became separate.
Movie nights quietly disappeared.
The grocery shopping they always did together suddenly happened individually.
Alex came home one Thursday afternoon carrying groceries, only to discover Jamie had already stocked the refrigerator.
Their food occupied different shelves.
Jamie no longer packed lunches.
He no longer reminded Alex about appointments.
He no longer quietly straightened Alex’s crooked tie before important meetings.
One Friday morning, Alex arrived at the office only to realize he had forgotten an important presentation folder.
Normally Jamie would’ve noticed it sitting on the dining table and handed it to him before he reached the front door.
Now it remained exactly where Alex had left it.
He had to drive all the way back to the apartment.
Standing in the empty kitchen, Alex stared at the folder lying on the table.
It wasn’t Jamie’s responsibility.
He knew that.
Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about how naturally Jamie would’ve helped before.
Saturday arrived.
Normally Saturdays meant grocery shopping together, coffee from their favorite café, and wandering through the weekend market looking for fresh vegetables or flowers.
Instead, Jamie left early for a photography assignment.
Alex wandered through the apartment alone.
The herbs on the balcony needed watering.
Jamie usually sang quietly while doing it.
Alex watered them in complete silence.
One of the dining room chairs had developed a slight wobble again.
Normally Jamie would’ve laughed and announced that his personal handyman had another mission.
Alex fixed it alone.
He found himself pausing in the middle of the living room.
Nothing had physically changed.
The furniture remained exactly where it had always been.
The photographs still hung on the walls.
Jamie’s grandmother’s recipe notebook still rested proudly on the kitchen shelf.
Yet everything felt different.
The apartment no longer felt warm.
It simply felt clean.
Organized.
Quiet.
It no longer felt alive.
Emma noticed the difference almost immediately.
She stopped by unexpectedly on Sunday afternoon carrying homemade cookies.
The moment Alex opened the door, she frowned.
“Why is it so quiet?”
Alex shrugged.
“Jamie’s out.”
Emma stepped inside.
“I know.”
She looked around.
“I mean the apartment.”
Alex didn’t answer.
She walked slowly through the living room before turning back toward him.
“You two fought.”
It wasn’t a question.
Alex sighed.
“A little.”
Emma folded her arms.
“What did you do?”
Alex looked offended.
“Why do you assume it was me?”
“Because Jamie never makes people cry.”
Alex froze.
“Cry?”
Emma’s expression softened.
“I stopped by yesterday.”
She looked toward the hallway.
“He smiled.”
“But his eyes were red.”
Alex felt something heavy settle inside his chest.
“I didn’t know.”
Emma studied him quietly.
“What happened?”
Alex looked away.
“I said something stupid.”
Emma waited.
“I told him…”
He swallowed hard.
“…that he was acting too much like a wife.”
Emma closed her eyes briefly.
“Oh, Alex.”
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
“I know.”
She sighed softly.
“But Jamie probably believed every word.”
Alex leaned against the kitchen counter.
“I was confused.”
Emma nodded.
“I know.”
“But confusing feelings don’t become less confusing just because you hurt someone.”
Her words lingered long after she left.
That evening, Jamie texted to say he would be staying late again.
Alex didn’t reply immediately.
Instead, he ordered another takeout dinner.
When the food arrived, he carried the paper bag to the dining table.
Only one plate this time.
No candles.
No conversation.
No laughter echoing through the apartment.
He sat alone beneath the warm kitchen light, staring at noodles that had already begun to grow cold.
Across the room, Jamie’s favorite mug rested upside down on the drying rack.
His recipe notebook remained open to a page covered in handwritten notes from his grandmother.
A small potted basil plant sat on the windowsill, its leaves reaching toward the fading evening sunlight.
Every corner of the apartment reminded Alex of Jamie.
Not because Jamie had filled the space with decorations.
Because he had quietly filled it with himself.
His kindness.
His routines.
His laughter.
His care.
Alex looked around the room and finally understood what had changed.
The apartment wasn’t empty because Jamie had moved out.
Jamie was still living there.
It felt empty because Jamie had stopped letting Alex into the quiet, everyday expressions of his love.
Alex lowered his chopsticks.
His appetite disappeared completely.
He rested his elbows on the table and covered his face with both hands.
The truth he’d been avoiding for weeks finally became impossible to ignore.
He hadn’t been afraid of Jamie acting like a wife.
He had been terrified of how desperately he’d come to need it.
Because somewhere between shared breakfasts, quiet evenings, handwritten grocery lists, homemade soup, and ordinary days that never felt ordinary with Jamie beside him…
Alex had lost the ability to imagine a happy life without him.
And sitting alone with another forgettable takeout dinner, he admitted the truth he could no longer outrun.
Losing Jamie didn’t feel like losing a roommate.
It didn’t even feel like losing a best friend.
It felt like losing the most important person in his life.
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