Chapter 13
Jonah
Something’s wrong with Chloe.
I can’t pinpoint exactly when it started —maybe three days ago, maybe a week— but there’s a distance between us that wasn’t there before. She still shows up at the bakery every morning, still helps with the twins, still sleeps in my bed.
But she’s not here. Not really.
It’s Tuesday morning, five a.m., and we’re working side by side making croissants. Usually she asks questions, makes jokes, tells me about her day. Today she’s been silent for twenty minutes, mechanically folding dough with perfect precision.
“You okay?” I ask, watching her face.
“I’m fine.” She doesn’t look up. “Just… tired.”
“You sure? You seem... I don’t know. Off.”
“I’m fine, Jonah.” Her voice has an edge I’m not used to. “Can we just focus on the croissants?”
I let it drop, but unease settles in my chest like a stone.
She leaves right at seven —earlier than usual— saying she needs to prep for her class. She kisses me goodbye, but it’s quick. Perfunctory. Like she’s checking a box.
At lunch, I come home to find her grading papers at the kitchen table while the twins play in the living room. She looks up when I walk in, and I swear I see something like guilt flash across her face before she smiles.
“Hey. You’re home early.”
“Wanted to see you.” I lean down to kiss her, and she melts for a second, before tensing. “How was school?”
“Good. The kids are working on their book reports.” She goes back to her papers, red pen moving in quick, efficient strokes. “How was the bakery?”
“Busy. Vincent asked if we’re coming to his engagement party next weekend.” I sit down across from her, studying her face. “I told him yes, but I wanted to check with you first.”
“Oh. Um.” She frowns at the paper in front of her. “Let me check my calendar.”
“Chloe.” I reach across the table, covering her hand with mine. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on.” She pulls her hand away, gathering her papers. “I just need to stay on top of my work. The permanent position opens up soon, and I need to make sure I’m doing my very—”
“Best,” we say together.
I hold her hand. “Honey, you’ll get it. We’ve talked about this.”
“You don’t know that.” Her voice is sharp now, defensive. “You can’t promise that, Jonah. Nobody can.”
The twins appear in the doorway, and Chloe’s expression shifts —softens— as Mia runs over.
“Chloe, will you play dolls with us?”
“Of course, sweetheart.” She sets down her papers, and the warmth in her voice when she talks to them makes my chest ache. “Go set it up, and I’ll be right there.”
The twins disappear, and Chloe stands, avoiding my eyes.
“Chloe, wait.” I catch her wrist gently. “Talk to me. Please. Whatever’s wrong, we can figure it out.”
She looks at me then, really looks at me, and there’s something in her eyes. Fear, maybe, or resignation, and it makes my stomach drop.
“I’m okay,” she says again. “I just need a little space to think. Okay?”
“Space to think about what?”
“About—” She stops herself, shaking her head. “Never mind. It’s nothing. I’m just stressed about work and that position. I want it bad.”
She pulls away and heads to the living room, leaving me standing alone in the kitchen, feeling like the ground just shifted beneath my feet.
That night, she comes to bed late. I’m still awake, waiting, and when she slides under the covers, I reach for her.
“Hey,” I murmur, pulling her close. “I missed you today.” But she’s stiff in my arms, not melting into me like she usually does.
“I’m still here.”
“You know what I mean.” I kiss her shoulder. “You’ve been distant. Pulling away.”
“I’m not pulling away.”
“Chloe—”
“I’m tired, Jonah. Can we just sleep?”
She’s beside me, but she’s not here. She’s hiding something. But I don’t know how to push without making it worse, so I hold her and feel her slowly relax, her breathing evening out.
But I can’t sleep.
I lie there in the dark, listening to her breathe, and try to figure out when everything changed. When she started looking at me like she was waiting for me to disappoint her.
When she started planning… an exit.
The next morning, she doesn’t show up at the bakery.
At six, I text her.
Jonah: Everything okay?
She responds twenty minutes later.
Chloe: Sorry, needed to catch up on sleep. See you at lunch.
But at lunch, she’s at the school. Something about a faculty meeting she forgot to mention.
By Thursday, I’m starting to panic.
She’s slipping away, and I don’t know why. Don’t know what I did wrong or how to fix it.
Jake finds me in the kitchen, staring at a batch of bread dough I’ve been kneading for ten minutes too long.
“Boss, you’re going to overwork that dough.” He takes it from me, setting it aside. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Try again. You’ve been a mess all week.” He leans against the counter, crossing his arms. “Is it Chloe?”
Just hearing her name makes my chest tight. “She’s pulling away. I don’t know why.”
“Did you ask her?”
“Of course I asked her. She says she’s fine, but she’s not fine, Jake. She won’t talk to me. Won’t touch me. She’s sleeping in my bed every night like she’s fulfilling an obligation.”
Jake is quiet for a moment. “You think she’s leaving?”
The question I’ve been avoiding for three days.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe. She keeps talking about the teaching position, about needing to focus on her career. What if she’s realized this isn’t what she wants? What if she’s just waiting for the right moment to tell me?”
“What if you’re overthinking this?”
“What if I’m not?” I run my hand through my hair, frustrated. “Rachel did the same thing. Started pulling away, stopped talking to me, acted like she was somewhere else in her head. And then one day she was just... gone.”
“Chloe’s not Rachel.”
“How do I know that? How do I know she’s not going to wake up one day and realize she made a mistake? That she doesn’t want to be tied down to a ready-made family in a small town?” My voice cracks. “That I’m not enough?”
Jake steps forward, gripping my shoulder. “Listen to me. You need to talk to her. Really talk to her. Because right now, you’re spiraling, and she’s pulling away, and if you both keep doing this, you’re going to lose each other over something that might not even be real.”
“What if she’s already decided?”
“Then you fight for her.” Jake’s voice is firm. “You don’t just let her walk away without knowing why. You don’t give up on the best thing that’s happened to you in years because you’re scared.”
He’s right. I know he’s right.
But that night, when I get home and find Chloe’s bedroom light on —her old bedroom, the one she hasn’t slept in since we got together— something inside of me breaks.
I knock on the door. “Chloe?”
“Come in.”
She’s sitting on the bed, surrounded by papers. Applications. Job applications.
“What’s this?” I ask, even though I already know.
She looks up, and there are tears in her eyes. “I need to talk to you.”
And I know —I know— that everything’s about to fall apart.