“It’s just...” I pause to collect my thoughts. “Terry is struggling with life. Things haven’t turned out as he hoped or envisioned.” Trey nods, encouraging me to continue. “He’s over fifty, in a dead-end job, with a failed acting career and few prospects. No prospects. Then there’s the fact that we haven’t been able to conceive.”
That ache spreads through my chest again, sharp and raw. Not just for the baby but for everything we’ve failed at, both together and individually. We used to be a team. But now, we’re strangers living in an apartment haunted by what could have been.
Terry will always be my lost boy, but I’m starting to think he isn’t mine to save.
“He hasn’t realized anything he wanted to in life.” Trey finishes making the cups of tea and hands me one. It’s warm and comforting between my palms. “Terry has been the same since I met him. He bounces from one job or disaster to another, never achieving what he wants to.”
“You two are wired so differently,” Trey says carefully. “You’re sprinting while he’s standing still. Common ground must feel impossible to find.”
My eyes linger on my friend, puzzled by his words.
“I mean—you’re chasing finish lines. He’s still figuring out who is Terry.”
“That’s right! I’m fucking Terry!” My husband’s voice bellows from the doorway of the office. “Fucking useless Terry!” His voice cracks on the word useless. Sheer fury wrapped in pain.
He turns on his heel and swings at the door with his fist. It bounces off the wall, cracking the plaster. The whole gym flinches, plates clattering to the floor.
Jumping from my seat, I run after him, through the gym and out into the street, screaming his name. He strides off and doesn’t look back. His shoulders do the talking: stiff, squared, retreating. All I can do is watch him walk away, pain searing through my chest as the panic takes hold.
I squat into a ball, my arms wrapping around myself. The cold pavement bites through my leggings, pinning me in the shame of what he heard me say.
Trey appears in front of me and crouches down, placing his hands under my arms, encouraging me to stand with him.
“He heard us,” I stammer. “He heard me saying brutal things about him.”
“What you said was true,” Trey reminds me. “Just not how he should have heard it.”
My chest tightens until each breath scrapes in a shallow burst. Nausea rises like bile, and the words tumble out. “I feel sick.”
Trey leads me back into the gym. I run to the bathroom and make it just in time as the terror of what will happen next surfaces. With me clinging to the toilet bowl, everything I’ve consumed over the past twenty-four hours reappears. My body heaves, and the tears fall.
As I stand, Trey appears behind me and takes me in his arms. I sob uncontrollably into his chest.
Ever since our failed treatment, I knew our relationship was on a downward spiral, but I hoped we could fix this between us. That we could find a way to move forward and create an alternative life together. But with each day, that hope thins. And tonight, I might have shattered what was left.
I stand outside the door to our apartment, tossing my keys from hand to hand. Going inside is the last thing I want to do.I haven’t heard from Terry since he stormed off two hours ago. All my calls have been rejected and my messages unread. Radio silence.
Music plays on the other side of the door, so I know he’s in there. My fingers fumble with the metal as I try to open it. I miss and drop the keys on the floor.
After bending down to retrieve them, I stand and see that the door has opened of its own accord. No one is standing on the other side. I take a tentative step into our apartment, glancing around the room, frantically trying to spot him. Then I see him, shrugging into his winter jacket, preparing to leave.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
He ignores me and begins to tie his shoes.
“Terry, I’m sorry about what I said to Trey. I was venting. You know I didn’t mean it.”
He turns on me, his face furious. “Didn’t mean it,” he snarls. “Bullshit, Amz. You meant every fucking word.”
I reach for him, and he steps back. “Don’t touch me. Don’t lie. And don’t try to spin me a line. Do you know what hurts most?”
My eyes fill with tears again for what must be the hundredth time today. I shake my head.
“Not that you have such a low opinion of me. Not that you think so little of me. It’s the fact that you’ve been venting to your work friends instead of speaking to me. I’ve been waiting here at home for you, night after fucking night, while you train.” He lifts his hands and makes quotation marks on the word train. “While you’ve been having cozy conversations and tea parties at the gym.”
“Terry, I—” He cuts me off with a look. I can barely remember a time when my husband has been beyond furious. Today is the angriest he’s ever been. And for the first time, I’m scared. Not because I think he’ll hurt me, but because I’m terrified he’s given up on us.
“Don’t speak to me. I need space. I’m going for a walk. I can’t be in the same room as you,” he growls. “You’ve twisted the knife in my back today. Well and truly. You may as well rip my heart out and eat it for breakfast.”
