Chapter 11
I stood in front of my dresser and let myself move slowly for once.
Nothing rushed, nothing forced. My fingers drifted over the small objects scattered across the surface, the perfume I used to wear to work every day, the ring dish Thalia bought me on a whim, and the simple silver necklace Callum gave me years ago.
I wasn’t getting ready for anyone’s approval tonight.
I just wanted to feel like a person again.
I pulled on soft black pants and a rose-colored sweater that warmed my skin.
My breath stayed even as I swept mascara over my lashes.
My reflection looked a little brighter than it had that morning, and I decided to take the small victory.
The necklace settled cool and familiar against my collarbone.
When Thalia honked in the driveway, one short, confident burst, I grabbed my bag and stepped outside. The chill in the air felt refreshing in my lungs.
She rolled down her window when I approached.
“Okay,” she said, giving me an exaggerated once-over. “Soft around the edges but still hot.”
I laughed, a genuine sound that shook something loose inside me.
“Thanks. That’s exactly the vibe I was aiming for.”
She grinned, victorious. “Get in. We’re getting comfort food. Doctor’s orders.”
I slid into the seat and let the hum of the engine carry me away from the house.
As she pulled away from the curb, she glanced over at me.
“Okay,” she said, squinting slightly. “Be honest. How bad is it today?”
I let out a breath. “Define bad.”
Thalia snorted. “That’s already not a great sign.”
“I’m just tired,” I said. “And kind of wired. Which is a terrible combination.”
She nodded, like that confirmed something. “Yeah, I can see that.”
I stared out the window, watching the houses pass.
“He’s still not talking,” I added quietly.
Thalia’s jaw tightened. “Of course he isn’t.”
“I don’t know what is happening, it's so out of the blue,” I said. “It’s like my husband is slipping through my fingers while I just watch it happen.”
“That sounds horrible, I’m sorry Gin. Has he even hinted about what is going on?” she said.
“No,” I said. “At this point, all I can do is guess.”
Thalia shook her head, one hand tightening on the steering wheel. “That’s not fair to you.”
“I know,” I said. “And I keep trying not to spiral, because stress makes everything worse, but it’s hard when you feel shut out of your own marriage.”
“Especially when you’re trying,” she said. “You’re not ignoring it. You’re not pretending it’s fine. You’re doing everything right”
“I ask,” I said. “I really do. But every time I bring it up, he just… freezes. Like I’ve said something wrong.”
“And then what?&rdquo She asked.
“Then he goes quiet,” I said. “Or his phone buzzes, and suddenly that has all his attention.”
Thalia scoffed. “That would make anyone feel invisible.”
“It’s not even that he’s hiding something,” I said. “It’s like whatever’s happening doesn’t include me.”
She glanced at me. “That hurts more.”
I nodded, my throat tightening. “I keep thinking maybe if I’m calm enough, if I don’t make it a big thing, he’ll come back to himself.”
“And in the meantime,” she said, “you’re carrying all of it.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly.
She pulled into a familiar parking lot and killed the engine.
“Okay,” she said, turning to me. “Then tonight is officially a low-stress zone. No spiraling, no overanalyzing, no taking responsibility for a grown man’s refusal to communicate.
We are not solving your marriage tonight, we are going to get your mind off things. I can kick his ass tomorrow.”
“That sounds a bit ambitious,” I laughed.
She smirked. “I didn’t say you had to be perfect, just fed.”
I laughed softly, the tension in my chest easing just a fraction.
Being around a friend made something in my chest loosen, just a little, as we got out of the car and headed inside.
She had brought us to our old spot, the restaurant on Maple with warm lighting, dark wood tables, and a menu full of comfort dishes. I felt myself relax the moment we stepped inside. Familiarity had its own kind of medicine.
We settled into our usual booth. The server greeted us with a knowing smile and asked if we wanted our usual tonight, which made Thalia beam.
Thalia talked animatedly, her hands slicing through the air as she reenacted a disastrous conversation from earlier that day. I didn’t need to contribute much for her stories to fill the space. I laughed, chimed in where it felt natural, and soaked up her energy like sunlight.
When the food arrived, I felt rejuvenated.
We always got the same thing - tortellini in a cream sauce with bacon and green onions, with extra garlic bread on the side for me, and Thalia got the garlic grilled cheese with tomato soup, also with extra garlic bread.
We liked to joke that we ordered the equivalent of an entire loaf of bread every time we came.
“You know,” she said between bites, “for someone technically on leave, you still give off ‘my calendar is full’ energy.”
“Nope, I do nothing except rotate between rooms in my house. Shall I look out the kitchen window for the next hour, or sit on the couch pretending to read a book? It’s riveting. Although, I am saving more of my energy for when I’m medically cleared to terrify people again,” I said.
She pointed her fork at me. “Good. Society isn’t ready for you, Ginny.”
After our meals, we split a small brownie draped in melting vanilla ice cream. I ate slowly, conscious of my limits, but the sweetness tasted like a reward I had earned simply for being upright and out in the world.
For a little while longer, we lingered in the warm, low buzz of the restaurant. The conversation stayed light, unforced, and the space between us felt easy enough that I could settle back into myself again.
Sadly, the night had to come to an end. Part of me dreaded going back home to the tense silence, as the reprieve had been so nice.
The drive back was calm, almost hypnotic. The heater blew gentle warmth against my legs while cool air trickled through the cracked window. Streetlights slid across the windshield in long, golden bands. I rested a hand over my abdomen, feeling so perfectly full.
The quiet in the car made room for thoughts that had been waiting patiently all evening.
They drifted in one by one, carrying that familiar ache that had been building around the edges of my days.
The distance between us felt harder to ignore in the silence, the sense that something had shifted and neither of us had figured out how to name it yet.
As Thalia pulled up in front of my home, she turned to me, her expression warm but serious. She reached across the console and squeezed my hand.
“Text me if you need anything,” she said. “No matter the time.”
I nodded. “I will.”
She gave me a look that said she believed half of that and let the other half slide, because she trusted me to reach out when I could.
I stepped out of the car into the evening air. The house looked calm from the outside, warmly lit, quiet. I walked up the steps slowly, both to keep my breath steady and to savor just a few more seconds of peace after a night that felt almost normal.
My key was already in the lock when something inside the house caught my ear.
A voice.
Callum’s.
Low and urgent.
I froze without meaning to, my hand still gripping the key.
“…I know you’re scared, but you can’t call me like this every five minutes—”
The sound of his voice wrapped around me in an unfamiliar shape, tight, strained, almost pleading. My stomach tightened. I kept my breathing steady out of instinct, lowering my shoulders the way my cardiologist taught me.
He kept talking.
The sharpness I might have expected never came. Instead, he sounded patient. Careful. Like he was trying to convince someone of something he desperately needed them to believe.
My pulse jumped once, a brief stutter under my ribs, but I steadied it with slow breaths.
I pushed the door open a few inches, far enough to hear clearly, not enough to alert him.
Then I heard the name.
“Ashley, please, listen to me.”
The floor under my feet might as well have tilted.
Ashley.
I stayed absolutely still. My heart thudded hard enough to make my fingers tingle.
“No, she doesn’t know. Why would she?” he said next. “I said I’ll help you. I mean it. But then that is it.”
My pulse quickened again, a bright, sharp flutter, and I pressed my palm against the center of my chest, grounding myself. In through the nose. Hold. Out slowly. I counted the beats. I breathed through them.
Callum’s voice dropped to a hush.
“I just need you to stop spiraling, okay? Let me think.”
I didn’t move.
I didn’t dare make a sound.
And then another beat passed.
And another.
My heart stayed fast but controlled.
My breath stayed smooth by force of will.
I stepped into the house fully, letting the door close behind me with a soft click. He’d already ended the call, too quickly, too neatly, and the quiet that followed felt unnaturally shaped, like a room where something had just been shoved into a drawer.
Callum was standing near the couch, phone now facedown on the coffee table, hands braced on his hips. His posture looked caught halfway between pacing and pretending nothing had happened.
He lifted his head when he heard me, forcing a casual tone. “You’re home earlier than I expected.”
I didn’t answer that. I walked farther in, steadying my breath the way I’d been doing for too long. I was so tired of this, of the hiding, the tiptoeing around him and his secrets.
“Who was on the phone?” I asked quietly.
He didn’t flinch, but something in his shoulders shifted. “Just… someone from work.”
It was the same flat answer he always gave when he didn’t want to explain something. Usually, I let it go. Tonight, the lie was too thin, too easy.
“What project?” I pressed, keeping my voice soft.
“A couple things. Scheduling stuff. It’s nothing.”