Chapter 8
The quiet in the house had begun to feel…
deliberate, stretching itself across the rooms with a slow, creeping patience, the kind that made me second-guess every sound and every breath.
It wasn’t hostile or cold, just there, filling the spaces between moments, lingering where warmth used to settle without effort.
I kept trying to ignore it, trying to stay reasonable and grounded and not turn every tiny shift into an alarm, but the silence followed me nonetheless, soft-footed and persistent.
I tried to fill the rooms the way I always did, moving with that gentle routine that made the house feel alive.
I watered the plants by the window, lit a candle that smelled faintly of vanilla and cedar, then curled up on the couch with the throw Callum’s mom had given me, still carrying the soft, familiar scent of her detergent, and let something mindless play on the TV just to keep the air from feeling too still.
Having noise in the background didn’t fix anything, but it helped, or at least it made the loneliness easier to ignore.
But the tight ache in my chest, that was harder to outrun.
A cluster of fluttery pulses pressed behind my sternum, not sharp enough to scare me but not mild enough to dismiss either.
They came in little bursts, unpredictable and irritating, like sparks along a frayed wire.
The cardiologist had warned me this would happen with PSVT, that my heart might jump or misfire or tighten unexpectedly, that none of it was dangerous as long as I stayed calm, managed my stress, and avoided anything that pushed me too hard.
It was the “manage your stress” part that felt almost laughable.
Stress wasn’t always loud. Sometimes it was quiet, subtle, creeping in through the pauses between conversations or the shift in someone’s tone.
Sometimes it was distance you didn’t understand, or a partner who felt present and absent at the same time.
Sometimes it was the ache of not knowing whether to lean in or back away.
I exhaled slowly, letting my hand settle against my chest until the tightness eased. It didn’t vanish entirely, but it dulled enough to breathe normally again.
My phone buzzed.
Thalia, naturally.
Her name alone made something in me lift.
Thalia: Gin, don’t forget to hydrate. And eat. Have you eaten?
A soft laugh escaped me as I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders.
Me: I’m alive, I promise.
Thalia: That doesn’t answer the question
Me: I ate. Kind of
A beat. I could almost see her stare through the phone.
Thalia: You okay?
My fingers hovered above the keyboard.
I could tell her everything, the way Callum had been quieter, the way the air around him felt different, the little stuttering rhythms in my chest that made everything else feel heavier, but saying it out loud felt too close to admitting something was wrong.
And I wasn’t ready for that. Not when none of the pieces added up yet.
So instead I typed:
Me: Just tired.
It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth.
A pause, then:
Thalia: uh-huh. Tired because of life, because of the PSVT, or something else?
A real laugh escaped me, surprising in its warmth, though it faded quickly.
Me: Life.
Two seconds later, she was calling.
I blinked at the screen for half a second before answering. “Hi.”
“What’s going on?” she demanded, no hello, no easing in. “And don’t give me that ‘life’ crap. I know your lying voice.”
“This is my normal voice,” I protested weakly as I sank deeper into the couch.
“When you lie,” she shot back.
I closed my eyes, letting my head rest against the cushion. “I’m fine.”
She made a noise that said she absolutely didn’t believe me. “You’re breathing like you’re about to confess to murder.”
“I’m not—” But my voice caught, just barely, and that was enough.
“Ginny.”
Her tone softened in that precise, impossible way she had, still sharp, still blunt, but warm on the inside, like steel heated in a forge.
“Talk to me, please.”
I swallowed, feeling another tiny tremor run across my chest, not painful but uncomfortable enough to make me overly aware of my own heartbeat.
“It’s nothing,” I said quietly. “I’m just…
tired. Physically, mostly. And emotionally.
A little. I don’t know. I don’t want to make a thing out of nothing. ”
The silence that followed wasn’t judgmental; it was careful.
“This is about Callum,” she said finally.
My breath hitched before I could stop it.
“No,” I said automatically. “I mean - no. I’m just tired.”
“That’s the sixth time you’ve said that.”
“Maybe I am tired!”
“Or maybe something feels off, and you don’t want to say it out loud yet.”
My eyes stung. Damn her. Damn her accuracy.
“It’s not like that,” I murmured. “He’s just been… distracted. And I don’t want to turn that into some huge thing. He’s allowed to have off days.”
More silence.
Thalia’s silences could flay a person alive.
“I’m not here to pick a fight on your behalf,” she finally said, her voice gentler. “But you don’t deserve to feel alone in a relationship. And you sound lonely, Gin.”
I pressed the heel of my hand lightly against my sternum, feeling that dull flutter again. “I’m not alone,” I whispered, though the words felt thin.
She let the quiet settle for a few moments before saying, “Okay. I won’t push. But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
The knot in my throat tightened. “I know.”
“And hydrate,” she added, snapping back to her usual sharpness before the moment could become too soft. “And eat something real. And if your heart starts doing the can-can again, you call your doctor. You hear me?”
A weak laugh left me. “Yes, ma’am.”
We hung up, and the house slipped back into its too-quiet stillness, settling around me like a second blanket, one much colder than the soft one in my lap.
I stayed curled there, letting the silence and the afternoon light press in around me, the loneliness expanding in slow waves I didn’t want to acknowledge.
I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t suspicious.
Just… tired.
Tired in every sense of the word.
And maybe a little bit angry and suspicious.
I pressed my hand against my chest again, breathing carefully as the tiny flicker beneath my ribs steadied.
I could be patient. I would be patient.
But it didn’t stop the ache from settling deeper, or the quiet from feeling heavier, or the distance between us from growing just enough for me to feel it.
And the more I felt it, the harder it became to pretend I didn’t.
· · ─ ·?· ─ · ·
By the time evening rolled itself across the windows, the house felt too big around me.
I tried to shake it off, tried to fold myself into something comforting, a blanket, a warm drink, a dim lamp, but nothing quieted the restless hum beneath my skin.
The fatigue from the PSVT had settled in the way it sometimes did, not sharp or frightening, just a slow heaviness that made my limbs feel a beat behind the rest of me.
When the front door finally clicked open, I sat up a little too quickly, heart giving a quick, annoying flutter before settling again.
Callum stepped inside with his usual, easy stride, dropping his keys into the bowl by the door and giving me a soft smile over his shoulder, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, voice warm but stretched thin around the edges.
“Hi.” I offered a small smile back, trying not to let my relief show too obviously. “Long day?”
“Mm,” he said, shrugging out of his jacket. “Something like that.”
He didn’t elaborate. I waited, giving him space to, but he just walked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, and leaned against the counter with his head tipped back, throat moving as he swallowed.
His shoulders looked tight, like he had been holding tension there all day and hadn’t realized it until the stillness made it noticeable.
“You okay?” I asked gently.
His eyes flicked to me, soft but distant. “Yeah. Just tired.”
It was the same way I had answered Thalia earlier, and hearing it echoed back to me sent a thin, uncomfortable ache through my chest. I nodded anyway. “Me too.”
I didn’t push.
I hadn’t all day.
I don’t think I knew how to anymore.
Later, when he showered and changed into soft clothes, he came to find me on the couch and slide in beside me. He pulled me in under his arm, pressed a kiss to the side of my head, and let out a long breath against my hair.
“You want to watch something?” he murmured.
“Sure. I’m in a Stranger Things mood,” I said, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV.
“You’re always in a Stranger Things mood,” he said, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
“Because it’s perfect television, especially now,” I added, glancing at him.
He laughed quietly, warm against my cheek. “Are you almost ready for the season five premiere?”
“Obviously,” I said, grinning.
He didn’t argue. He never did.
I nestled into him, letting the weight of his arm and the familiar scent of his skin ease some of the lingering tension.
For a while, it almost felt normal, the flicker of the screen painting soft colors across the walls, his thumb tracing absentminded circles on my side, the two of us breathing in the same rhythm.
Then his phone buzzed.
He stiffened.
Only slightly, but enough for me to feel it.
A second buzz.
Then a third.
He shifted, carefully setting his arm aside as he reached for the device on the coffee table. The way he grabbed it, too quick, too guarded, sent a faint prickle across my skin.
“Sorry,” he said, already standing. “I should take this. Work thing.”
“Now?” I asked, trying to keep it light, teasing even, though something uneasy curled low in my stomach.
“Yeah,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes. “Won’t be long.”
He slipped out of the room before I could say anything else.
The TV kept playing, but the sound felt muffled under the sudden ringing in my ears. I sat very still, listening to the faint murmur of his voice coming from down the hall, low, urgent, impossible to make out but undeniably… tense.
A cold, thin dread threaded through me, tightening with every quiet second that passed.
I shouldn’t eavesdrop.
I knew that.
I wasn’t trying to hear the words.
But the tone, the tone was impossible to ignore.
And maybe it was the fatigue, or the loneliness, or the tiny flutter in my chest that had been misbehaving all day, but something inside me sank.
He came back after a few minutes, wearing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, the edges of it pulled too tight.
“Everything okay?” I asked, keeping my voice steady, casual, gentle.
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Just work. Nothing serious.”
His phone lit up again. He turned it over facedown.
When he settled beside me, his arm wrapped around my shoulders like muscle memory, but his body wasn’t quite relaxed.
I could feel the quiet tension humming through him, the way his breathing didn’t sync with mine like it usually did, the way his hand hovered and then rested and then hovered again, unsure of itself.
We watched the show, or pretended to. My eyes stayed on the screen, but my thoughts spun in slow, uneasy circles.
I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t even suspicious.
Just… uneasy. Something about the whole night felt slightly misaligned, like a picture frame that looked straight until you really stared at it.
When the credits rolled, I slipped gently from under his arm.
“I’m gonna call Thalia,” I said lightly. “She wanted to check in.”
He nodded, leaning back into the couch cushions, and gave me a tired half-smile. “Tell her I say hi.”
I grabbed my phone and stepped into the bedroom, closing the door softly behind me before collapsing onto the bed, heart fluttering restlessly beneath my ribs.
Thalia picked up on the first ring.
“Gin?”
The sound of her voice cracked something open inside me.
“I think…” My breath hitched, unsteady. “I think something’s wrong. I think he is talking to someone else, he kept getting messages all evening and then a call… But I don’t want to believe that he would cheat on me.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then, with absolute conviction, dripping with protective fury:
“Who the hell is he talking to at eleven at night? Say the word, and I will follow him. I mean it. I’ll put on sneakers, bring a knife and maybe slash a few tires.”
A tiny, helpless laugh escaped me, trembling around the edges, because of course she said that. And of course it made me feel both loved and slightly terrified for whatever poor soul she imagined confronting.
But beneath the laugh, beneath the warmth of her loyalty, the dread lingered, whispering quietly against the back of my ribs.
Something was off.
Something was shifting.
And I couldn’t pretend not to feel it.