Chapter 19
Leah stared at the phone, her stomach twisting into knots.
We need to talk about us. Can you tell me a time you’re not working and when Maisie’s at school?
Dylan. Persistent.
He’d brought it up last month. The distance between them. She’d brushed it off, told him he was imagining things, that they were fine. But were they?
She locked her phone and set it aside, rubbing her temples. The truth sat there, unspoken, like a quiet presence lurking in the house, in their bed, in the spaces between conversations. As much as she loved their life, as much as she adored Maisie, she couldn’t deny the shift anymore.
She barely saw Dylan. He was gone for weeks at a time, then home again, slipping into place like an old book back on a shelf.
He took over the school runs, cooked dinner, fixed whatever had broken in his absence.
It should have been a relief, but instead, it irked her.
Like he was an interruption. Like everything she’d built in his absence had to pause, adjust, accommodate.
And just when they’d settled again, he’d leave.
Then the cycle would start over.
She hadn’t responded. She couldn’t plan or arrange times anymore – it didn’t all sit on her shoulders.
When she arrived home after her shift, he was already there, sitting on the couch, waiting.
A teapot, milk, and two mugs were perched neatly on a tray on the coffee table. He’d even laid out biscuits – two chocolate ones. One already had a bite taken out of it.
“Quality control,” he said, when he saw her looking.
He’d thought of everything. Even the excuse she might make about needing food, needing space, needing anything but this conversation.
He clasped his hands together awkwardly, shifting to make space for her on the couch. His hair was cropped even shorter than last time, the red steadily fading to white. The curse of a redhead, he used to joke. His father’s fiery hair had turned a stark white before thirty. Dylan wasn’t far behind.
“How was work?” he asked, pouring the tea.
“Tiring,” she sighed, kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet under her.
“But worth it?” His brow furrowed slightly, a familiar look. The silent this is the job you chose, and you’re always complaining about it.
She ignored it. “A complicated birth,” she said instead. “I don’t know the outcome yet. My shift ended, and the next midwife took over.”
She hated that part. Spending hours with a mother, guiding her through labour, building trust, only to leave her in someone else’s hands at the most vulnerable moment. But that was the job. If she stayed late every time, she’d never get home.
Dylan sat up a little straighter, leaning forward over the table.
She was waiting for it.
But she wouldn’t speak first.
He wanted this conversation. He could be the one to start it.
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow,” he said quietly.
“I know.” Leah muttered, reaching for a biscuit. “Seven a.m., before the traffic starts.”
Dylan nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. He glanced at her, then away again.
“Look, Leah …” He exhaled, rubbing his palms together. “We’ve been dancing around this for a while. Something isn’t right.”
“Everything’s fine.” She lifted her eyebrows, daring him to argue and for a moment she almost believed it herself.
Dylan shook his head. “Every time I come home, I feel like you’re further away.”
She sighed, staring at the steam rising from her tea. “You’re gone for a long time, Dylan.”
“I know. But that’s the life we live. I’ve always worked offshore.”
Leah shrugged. She had no energy for this. Not now, maybe not ever. Even the chocolate biscuit wasn’t helping.
Dylan leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You’re not happy.”
“I am happy.”
“You’re not,” he pushed. “Something’s off, and it’s getting glaringly obvious. You don’t even let me touch you anymore.”
Leah let out a sharp laugh, more disbelief than humour. “Oh, so that’s it? You’re not getting enough sex? Is that what this is about?” Her mug hit the table with a dull clink. “Well, I’m sorry I don’t have time between work and raising our child to roll out the red carpet for you.”
“That’s not fair,” Dylan said, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t say that. Don’t twist my words.”
She let out a slow breath, but the irritation was still crawling under her skin.
“You used to love this life,” he said quietly. “Our home. Our family. But now … you just seem angry all the time.”
Leah’s head snapped up. “And you think that’s just me? Like I woke up one day and decided to feel like this?”
Her voice was measured, but there was an edge to it, something she couldn’t quite soften.
Dylan held her gaze, something unreadable flickering across his face.
Leah inhaled slowly, pressing her hands together in her lap. There were two people in this relationship. But lately, it felt like they were living in completely different worlds.
“I’m doing my bit for this family,” Dylan said, exhaustion lacing his words. “I’m out earning, working long hours, then when I come home, you make me feel …” He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “In the way.”
Leah turned to him, tilting her head. “We’re both out earning, working long hours. You don’t seem to value what I do either.”
“I do, but … you don’t have to. With my income, you could take a break, relax a bit.” He said it carefully, as if testing the waters.
Leah let out a short laugh, though there was no humour in it. “You think I can be a woman of leisure?” Her fingers tapped absently against the arm of the couch. “We’re still paying off all that debt, Dylan.”
“I know. But we’re getting there.”
“Yes, by living in a small house and both of us working.”
Dylan sighed. “Look, what do you want? You told me you love our home, that you’re happy at work … I don’t get it. Why are we always at odds?”
Leah hesitated.
She did love this place. Sometimes she forgot that – forgot how much of their life was folded into these walls.
Maisie had been born here, after all, in the same room where they were sitting now.
Dylan had been home that night, somehow, holding a cold cloth to her forehead, whispering encouragement through the pain.
And then Maisie had arrived – red-faced and furious, fists clenched, her cry filling the house. Dylan had cried too, laughing and shaking as he kept saying She’s perfect. Leah, she’s perfect, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.
She swallowed, the memory still warm and tender despite everything.
And she did love her job, even on the hardest days.
But something still felt … off.
“Okay we are struggling,” she said finally. “And I see it more and more, especially when I’m around the other wives.”
Dylan frowned.
“They don’t work. They don’t have to work. They live in these beautiful modern houses with driveways big enough for all their flashy cars.”
“You never cared about all that.”
“Well, now I feel like we don’t have much. We’re still paying off that debt, and both of us are working every hour we can …”
Dylan’s expression darkened. “You’ll never forgive me for that, will you?”
Leah inhaled sharply, holding onto her calm. “I said I did.” But even to her own ears, the words sounded tired, worn thin. “I just find it remarkable that we’re still paying off those credit cards.”
“It was a big expense,” he muttered.
“Come on, Dylan. A boat isn’t all that debt.” Her voice stayed even, but inside, something twisted. “Your friends have boats and everything else.”
Dylan looked at her directly now, his posture stiffening. “What are you saying?”
Leah met his gaze, steady, unreadable. “I’m saying …” She exhaled, voice soft but firm. “I don’t think it all went to the boat. I think you spent it on something else … and you just haven’t told me.”
“You think I’d lie about something like that?”
Leah let out a breath through her nose, slow and measured. Instead of answering, she stood, collecting the empty mugs. The sound of porcelain clinking was louder than she expected.
She took them to the kitchen, turned on the tap, and watched the water swirl down the drain.
Behind her, Dylan didn’t move. He didn’t speak.
Leah stared out the window. She should answer him. She should fight, or demand the truth. Something.
But she didn’t say anything.