4. Luciana Creed #3
Michael, on the other hand, wasn’t paying attention anyway. He was too busy trying to convince me that recess should happen three times a day.
The rest of the drive passed without any more questions.
I thanked God, because I wasn’t sure how many more lies I had left in me.
By the time we got home, I felt exhausted all over again.
The boys immediately disappeared upstairs to change clothes while I headed into the kitchen to start dinner.
Everything felt strangely routine. Ground beef sizzling in a pan.
Homework spread across the island. Michael asking for snacks every twenty minutes.
MJ correcting him like he was somebody’s father.
The normalcy of it all almost made me emotional, because while life continued moving around me, my marriage felt suspended in place.
Dinner came and went…
Homework got checked…
Bath water ran upstairs…
By the time both boys were finally clean and dressed in pajamas, I was running purely on autopilot.
MJ curled up beside me while Michael rested against my shoulder as I read to them. Halfway through the second chapter, I realized neither one was listening anymore.
Both were asleep.
I smiled then carefully helped them into bed.
For a moment, I stood in the doorway watching them sleep. The house was big and they both had their own rooms. Yet, even with all the arguing, they preferred to sleep with each other.
The room was peaceful and safe, everything children deserved.
My hand drifted to my stomach then stayed there, because another child was depending on me now too.
A daughter… hopefully. Just the thought should’ve made me happy, but instead, guilt immediately followed.
Eventually, I turned off the light and quietly closed the door behind me.
The house felt completely different once the boys were asleep. The silence returned.
I glanced at the clock, and it was 8:17 pm.
Maddox still wasn’t home. I told myself not to panic. At least not yet. He was probably working, handling business. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from checking my phone. Of course there was no texts. No calls. Nothing.
The knot in my stomach tightened.
By nine o’clock, I was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase. By ten, I was still there.
The television remained off. The house remained quiet, and every noise and every pair of headlights that passed outside made my heart jump before disappointment settled in all over again.
The longer I sat here, the more my mother’s voice replayed in my head.
Maybe that’s where you start.
I closed my eyes, because for the first time since this nightmare began, I wasn’t worried about winning an argument. I wasn’t worried about explaining myself. I wasn’t even worried about being understood.
I was worried about whether I still had a marriage left to save.
The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed.
I barely reacted.
At some point, I’d stopped checking the time altogether because it wasn’t helping. Every minute that passed only made me more anxious, and anxiety was already doing a number on me.
My eyes drifted toward the front door again. This house felt entirely too big when he wasn’t in it. I hated how dependent I’d become on his presence over the years. Not financially, physically or emotionally.
Maddox had become woven into every part of my routine so gradually that I never noticed it happening. The morning kisses. The random phone calls throughout the day. The way he’d stop what he was doing to listen whenever I needed to vent about something.
The little things.
The things people stopped appreciating until they were gone.
A sound outside immediately pulled me from my thoughts. Headlights flashed across the front windows, making my heart jumped. Then started racing.
I pushed myself up from the staircase so quickly I almost got dizzy.
A few seconds later, that familiar black truck parked right in front of the door like it always did.
It was Maddox.
Relief hit first, then fear, because seeing him wasn’t the problem. Talking to him was.
The garage door slowly opened before closing again. I was expecting him to come through the front door since he parked in front of it. It was like he knew I was here waiting and was trying to avoid me at all cost, but I had no time to dwell on that.
My stomach twisted.
A moment later, I heard the door leading from the garage into the house. Then heavy footsteps.
The second Maddox walked into view, every speech I’d prepared throughout the day disappeared.
He looked like he didn’t have time for my shit tonight.
For a second, neither one of us spoke.
His gaze landed on me standing near the staircase, and something shifted across his face.
Maybe he was surprised, clearly not expecting me to still be awake.
“You waiting up?” he asked. His voice was a little too calm.
Even so, I nodded.
“Yeah.”
Maddox looked away briefly before dropping his keys onto the entryway table.
The silence that followed felt awkward. My fingers twisted together nervously as I told him, “I put the boys to bed.”
The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back. Such a stupid thing to say, as if bedtime updates mattered right now.
Maddox nodded anyway and asked, “How they doing?”
“Good. They’ve been asking about you since they didn’t get to see you last night before they went to bed, this morning when they woke up, or tonight before they turned in.”
He dropped his head and let out a slow breath.
“Yeah,” he muttered, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I’ll see them tomorrow.”
That should’ve made me feel better.
It should’ve given me something to look forward to knowing my husband would be home in the morning. Home for breakfast. Home with the boys. Home where he belonged, but it didn't because he would only be here for the boys.
Finally, I forced myself to say the thing I’d been rehearsing for hours.
“I think we need help.”
Maddox’s eyes lifted back to mine. For a second, he didn’t respond or react at all.
Then he asked, “Help?”
I nodded as the lump in my throat returned. “Yeah, maybe we should talk to somebody.”
His expression remained unreadable.
“A therapist?”
“Yes.”
He chuckled, “You think therapy gon’ fix this?”
The question hurt because I already knew the answer.
“No.” His brows pulled together, but I continued before I lost my nerve. “I don’t think anything can fix it overnight. I just…” I stopped and looked down. “I don’t know what else to do.”
That was the most honest thing I’d said all day, because I didn’t. For years, I’d always had a plan. A solution. A way forward. Now? I was completely lost.
Maddox stared at me for sew hat seemed like forever. Long enough to make my chest hurt. Long enough to make me wonder if he was about to tell me it was too late.
Instead, he finally looked away. Toward the staircase. Toward the hallway… Anywhere but me.
Then finally, I asked the question that had been haunting me since the moment he walked out that front door this morning.
“Do you think we can get past this?” For a second, I hated myself for asking that, because the look on Maddox’s face told me he genuinely didn’t know.
I knew it wasn’t because he was trying to punish me or he wanted me to suffer. It was because he honestly didn’t have an answer.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t know…”
The words hit harder than if he’d yelled. Harder than if he’d cursed. Harder than if he’d told me no, because Maddox always knew.
He always had a plan. Always knew what came next, but this had broken something neither one of us knew how to repair.
Without another word, he grabbed his keys and started toward the staircase.
I watched him climb each step. Watched him reach the top. Watched him walk right past our bedroom, and when the guest room door closed a few seconds later, I finally understood something that terrified me more than anything else.
Agreeing to therapy wasn’t hope… It was our last chance.