Lily
“Idon’t know what to do anymore, Eb,” I said over the phone, sitting in my office at the bakery for privacy.
“I really think it’s time for you two to sit down and have an open conversation. You need to be honest about how you’re feeling,” she suggested gently.
“I know he’s taking on new clients and working hard, but it feels like there’s something deeper going on,” I admitted, taking a deep breath. “What if he’s having an affair?”
I leaned back heavily in my chair, my gaze falling on the framed photo on my desk.
It showed me, Ethan, and the kids, all sun-kissed and laughing on a beach.
That picture used to fill me with such warmth, a quiet pride in how incredibly lucky we were.
Now, it felt like a bittersweet reminder of my happiness was slowly slipping away.
“I hate that he feels like he needs to work himself into the ground for us. It’s not what we wanted. He’s so focused on ‘securing our future,’ but he’s missing the present.”
Ebony sighed softly, the sound heavy with understanding. “Maybe Ethan feels that’s what a good husband, a good father, looks like, Lily. Provide, work hard, never stop. You remember what it was like for him growing up.”
“Yeah, but at what cost, Eb?” I retorted, my frustration bubbling over.
It pained me to see him put his career above us, all for the sake of security. Didn’t he see that he was sacrificing us, our family?
“Every time I try to bring it up, it almost immediately sounds like I’m ungrateful for all his hard work, for everything he’s trying to do.”
“You’re not ungrateful, Lily. Wanting your husband and the father of your children to be present is completely valid,” Ebony reassured me.
I exhaled slowly, the air feeling stale in my lungs. “We haven’t had sex in months, Ebs. Months.” I hated to admit.
She was silent for a beat. “It makes sense, I guess, with all the stress he’s been under at work. But Lily, you cannot let this go unaddressed much longer. Otherwise, he’ll—”
“Drift farther,” I finished.
And by then, it would be too late to fix us. Resentment would have made itself a comfortable, permanent spot in our marriage.
I closed my eyes, picturing that beach photo, the vibrant smiles and laughter muting the negative thoughts in my mind.
I am determined not to let us drift farther apart. I will fight for us.
All I needed to do was find a way to remind him what he was fighting for.
I barely registered the sound of the front door closing. My eyes were tracing the words on the page of the paperback I was reading in bed.
A few minutes later, the sound of heavy footsteps resonated on the stairs. I could feel the weight of his day with every dragging step.
Our bedroom door opened with a soft click, and I glanced up from my book. Ethan stood in the doorway, his shoulders slumped, his usually sharp suit jacket askew. His tired eyes widened slightly in surprise when they met mine.
“Hey,” he murmured as he stepped into the room, pulling the door quietly shut behind him. He started fumbling with his tie. “I’d figure you’d be in bed by now.”
“Me too, but I wanted to wait up for you,” I admitted. The book lay forgotten, face down on the duvet. “We need to talk.”
His fingers finally wrestled the tie’s knot free. “Okay,” he replied.
He sank onto the edge of the bed beside me.
He looked drained, the lines around his eyes deeper, his jaw tight. A familiar ache settled in my chest. I wanted nothing more than for him to lay his head on my lap so I could run my fingers through his hair and soothe whatever silent battle he was fighting.
“How was your day?” I asked.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Very long.”
That’s all he said now. “Long.” “Busy.” “Fine.” He no longer shared the details of his day, including big and small victories.
“Ethan, I miss you,” I blurt out. “I miss the intimacy we used to have. I love you, and I value our marriage more than anything, but I need to feel closer to you again. I need us to feel closer.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes still distant, as if processing my words through a thick fog. “I miss you, too, Lily,” he whispered.
A fragile spark of hope flickered within me, and I managed a small, tentative smile. “Would you be open to talking to a marriage counselor? Someone who could help us find our way back to each other?”
The lines between his brows, already etched with fatigue, deepened into a distinct crinkle. “How, Lily? My schedule is already tied up as it is. I won’t be able to take an hour away to listen to a stranger tell us how to fix our marriage.” His tone was calm, but his dismissive words stung.
“So, you’re not willing to even try to find a middle ground to fix what’s broken between us?” I pressed.
His jaw flexed. “We’re not broken, Lily,” he said irritably.
“Well, something isn’t working, Ethan. You realize that, right?” I retorted sharply.
His shoulders tensed, and he turned his head away.
“Ethan,” I tried again, softer this time.
He looked back at me, and in his eyes, I saw a broken man wrestling with an invisible weight, trying desperately to navigate emotions he couldn’t articulate. I needed to reach him, to pull him back from whatever dark place he was retreating into.
“I can’t force you to attend counseling,” I conceded. “So, how about we compromise?”
He shifted, a faint flicker of curiosity in his tired eyes. “What do you have in mind?”
“Do you love me?” I asked.
“With all my heart and soul,” he responded immediately, his eyes searching mine.
I smiled, a genuine smile this time. “Then how about this—we set up a date night, just the two of us, once a month. And a family night with the kids once a week. Can you try to give up an hour or two for your family, for us?”
Ethan
When she says it that way, with a quiet, almost defeated tone, it’s like a sharp arrow shot straight through the heart.
My own wife had to ask me to leave work early so I could spend one hour with my family. One hour. How utterly fucked up was that? That the question even had to form on her lips, that it wasn’t a given, screams what a complete, self-absorbed dick I’ve become.
An absentee father.
A neglectful husband.
I stared at my beautiful wife, sitting there with her long, golden locks set free after a long day at the bakery, her face bare of makeup, looking so sexy in her satin camisole that gave her a sultry look.
Her eyes held a weariness I hadn’t noticed, or perhaps, refused to see.
“Yes, Lily. I promise,” I managed to say.
“Really?” she whispered, the single word laced with fragile, desperate hope. And it nearly broke me.
“You’re right, Lily.” I reached for her hand, as I intertwined them with hers, rubbing my thumb over her knuckles, feeling the familiar warmth I’d missed.
“I haven’t been around. And I will do better. I want to do better.” That last part was true.
“Thank you, Ethan. That means a lot to me.”
I prayed I was not too late. That I hadn’t already lost the chance to keep that promise.