1. Madison #2
His breathing evened out within minutes. That rhythm I knew so well. The slight catch on every exhale. He was asleep.
I wasn’t.
I lay in the dark and stared at the ceiling and felt the wetness between my thighs, the evidence of what we’d just done, and wondered when sex had stopped being connection and started being the only time he noticed I existed.
When did this happen?
I tried to pinpoint it. A specific fight. A specific failure. Something I could point to and say there, that’s when we broke. But there was nothing. Just a slow erosion. A gradual fading. The tide going out so slowly I hadn’t noticed until I was standing on dry sand.
The heat was still alive. My body still craved his. When he touched me, I came alive in a way I didn’t anywhere else.
But he only touched me in the dark now.
Only wanted me when the lights were off and his hands were between my thighs. During the day, at breakfast, at dinner, at parties, I was just someone he was used to having around.
When was the last time he looked at me with the lights on?
I couldn’t remember.
Fuck.
I turned my head and watched him sleep. The moonlight caught the silver at his temples. The lines around his eyes that deepened when he smiled. He looked peaceful. Content. Like a man who had everything he wanted.
Maybe he does. Maybe this is enough for him. Maybe I’m the one who’s broken, wanting more than a husband who comes home every night and fucks me like he means it.
But he doesn’t mean it. Not really. If he meant it, he wouldn’t reach for his phone just after fucking me. If he meant it, he would stay.
I fell asleep sometime after two. I know because I watched the clock change. 1:47. 1:58. 2:15. Then nothing.
When I woke up, I was alone.
I reached across the bed before I opened my eyes. His side was empty. I pressed my palm flat against the sheets where he should have been.
Cold.
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. Morning light filtered through the curtains. The clock read 7:23. I’d slept later than usual.
He’d fallen asleep beside me, I was sure of that. I remembered his breathing. The rhythm of it. But at some point in the night, had he gotten up? Had he gone to his study? Had he slept on the couch in his office while I lay alone in our bed?
I didn’t know.
That was the thing that sat heaviest on my chest as I stared at the empty space beside me. I didn’t know if my husband had slept next to me.
I got up. Showered. Let the hot water run over my shoulders and tried to wash away the hollow feeling in my chest. It didn’t work. It never worked.
I dressed and went downstairs and found him exactly where I expected to find him. At the kitchen island. Coffee cup at his elbow. Phone in his hand.
“Morning,” he said without looking up. “There’s coffee for you.”
“Thanks,” I said. I poured myself a cup and sat across from him.
He scrolled through emails. His thumb moved across the screen. His brow furrowed at something he read.
“The Vanderford dinner is Thursday,” he said. “The car should be here by seven.”
“I remember,” I said.
“Good. Wear the blue dress. You look good in that.”
Not I loved seeing you in it. Just you look good, like he was reviewing a presentation. I took a sip of my coffee and didn’t respond. He didn’t notice.
“I’m taking Grace shopping this afternoon,” I said after a moment. “Greer’s swamped with the new fall menu for the club. She asked if I could help with back-to-school stuff.”
“Mm-hmm,” he said, still scrolling.
“She wants to go to that place along the farmers market. The one with the vintage jewelry.”
“That’s nice,” he said.
“She’s been going through a hard time lately. Greer’s worried about her. With all the changes with Graham. Maybe we should have them over for dinner, it’ll give them a break too.”
I don’t know why I said it. Maybe to see if he would react. Maybe to test whether he was listening at all.
“Sure,” he said. “Just put it on the calendar.”
He hadn’t heard a word.
I set my coffee cup down and looked at him. Really looked. At the man I’d married ten years ago. The man who used to bring me flowers for no reason. Who used to call me in the middle of the day just to hear my voice. Who used to look at me like I was the only thing in any room.
Now he couldn’t even look up from his phone long enough to hear me talk about his best friend’s daughter.
His phone buzzed. A different sound than the email notifications. A call.
“Sorry,” he said, already standing. “I have to take this.”
“Ford…”
But he was already answering. Already walking toward the door. Already gone.
“Yeah, I’m heading in now,” he said into the phone. “We can go over the numbers in the car.”
The front door opened and closed. His car started in the driveway. The engine faded as he pulled away.
He hadn’t said goodbye.
I sat at the island with my coffee growing cold and stared at the chair where he’d been. At the coffee cup he’d left for me to clean.
The house was so quiet.
I picked up my phone and stared at it for a long moment. Then I opened my texts.
Me: Girls night Thursday after the Vanderford thing. I need it.
Emery’s response came fast.
Emery: Done. I’ll tell Greer. Everything okay?
I looked around the kitchen. At the perfect countertops and the perfect appliances and the perfect view of the ocean through the perfect windows.
At all of it. This life I’d built. This marriage I’d chosen. This man I’d loved for a decade who couldn’t spare me five minutes over breakfast.
Me: I don’t know. I think I need to figure that out.
I hit send. Set the phone down.
The silence pressed in around me.
And somewhere in the pit of my stomach, a question was forming.
What if this is all there is? What if this is all there ever was, and I just didn’t see it until now?
I didn’t have an answer.
But for the first time in ten years, I was starting to think I needed to find one.