2. Dylan #2
“Because you’ve been staring at it for six hours.” She grins at me, unapologetic. “Fresh eyes. That’s what I’m here for.”
“That’s exactly what you’re here for.” I lean back in my chair and scrub a hand over my face. I can’t remember the last time I slept more than four hours. “What would I do without you, Claudette?”
“Crash and burn, probably.” She’s already pulling up the next sequence, her focus laser-sharp. “Come on. We’ve got fourteen more scenes to review before tomorrow’s shoot.”
Checking my phone out of habit, I see three missed calls from Selene, spread out over the past five hours. A text that just says What time will you be home?
I should call her back. Tell her I’ll be late again, that the production is demanding more of me than I anticipated, that I miss her and I’ll make it up to her soon.
Instead, I type out a quick response: “Late. Don’t wait up. Love you,” and turn back to the monitor.
I manage to make it home before midnight a few times over the following weeks, and each time, I find Selene waiting for me.
She’s always doing something quiet when I walk in. Reading in the living room. Watching something on television with the volume low. Once, I found her in my office, sitting at the small desk in the corner that used to be hers, staring at nothing.
“Hey, baby.” I kick off my shoes and drop onto the couch beside her, exhausted in a way that feels bone-deep. “Sorry I’m late. The night shoot ran over.”
“It’s okay.” She mutes whatever she was watching and turns to face me. “How was it?”
“Incredible.” The word comes out on an exhale of pure satisfaction.
“The scene we shot tonight is going to be the centerpiece of the whole film. The way the actors played it, the lighting, everything just clicked. Claudette suggested this last-minute change to the staging that completely transformed the emotional impact, and-”
Snapping out of it, I’m suddenly aware that I’ve been talking about Claudette for the past ten minutes without pausing for breath. But Selene is watching me with that same unreadable expression she’s been wearing lately, so I take it as encouragement to continue.
“She has this incredible instinct for knowing when something’s not working.” I’m animated now, my exhaustion forgotten in the rush of creative excitement. “Like, she’ll watch a take and immediately pinpoint exactly what’s off about it, even when the rest of us can’t see it. It reminds me of…”
I trail off, the comparison dying on my lips.
It reminds me of you. That’s what I was about to say. It reminds me of the way you used to tear my work apart and rebuild it stronger.
“Reminds you of what?” Selene’s voice is soft, almost gentle, like she’s coaxing a confession out of me.
“Nothing.” I shake my head and reach for her hand. “I’m just tired. Tell me about your day.”
“There’s not much to tell.” She lets me hold her hand, but she doesn’t squeeze back. “I had a meeting with my publicist about some upcoming appearances. A fitting for the charity gala next month. Lunch with my mother.”
I nod along, but I’m only half-listening. My mind is already back at the studio, running through tomorrow’s shot list, calculating how we can make up the time we lost today.
“Dylan.” Selene’s voice cuts through my mental planning. “Did you hear what I just said?”
“Of course.” I blink, trying to recall her words. “Charity gala. Fitting. Your mom.”
She stares at me for a long moment, and something dims behind her eyes, its light being slowly turned down.
“Never mind.” She pulls her hand away and stands up. “I’m going to bed. Are you coming?”
“In a bit. I just need to review some footage on my laptop.”
She doesn’t argue. She doesn’t ask me to come with her. She just nods, that same careful, controlled nod she’s been giving me for weeks, and walks toward the bedroom.
As I watch her go, somewhere in the back of my mind, a small voice whispers that something is very wrong. That I’m missing something important. That my wife is slipping away from me and I’m too consumed with my work to notice.
But then my phone buzzes with a message from Claudette about tomorrow’s schedule, and the voice goes quiet, and I turn my attention back to the project that has become my entire world.
Later that night, long after Selene has fallen asleep, I finally crawl into bed beside her.
She’s facing away from me, her breathing deep and even, her body curved toward the edge of the mattress as if trying to put as much distance between us as possible.
I want to reach for her, to pull her close, to feel the warmth of her skin against mine, but she seems so peaceful that I don’t want to wake her.
Instead, I turn away too, settling onto my side of the bed and letting my mind drift back to the production.
Tomorrow’s call time is 6:00 a.m. We’re shooting the pivotal scene where the protagonist realizes everything she believed about her life was a lie.
It’s the emotional climax of the second act, and if we nail it, the rest of the film will fall into place.
I’m almost asleep when I feel the mattress shift behind me.
The soft rustle of movement. The whisper of fabric against skin. Selene is reaching for something, I realize, but I’m too tired to turn around and see what.