My chest aches just thinking it, a sharp pain that always comes when the doubt starts winning.
How the hell did I forget to tell him I quit? And how did he forget to check on me? He’s supposed to be the one person I shouldn’t have to ask to be there for me.
He sometimes works late, but let’s be real—he could’ve been anywhere, with anyone,doing anything.I roll my eyes at my own paranoia, muttering,Get it together, Jaine.
But deep down, I know it’s not paranoia—it’s fear. It’s anger. Fear that the distance, and the late shifts, are prying us apart. Angry that the crack between us isjustwide enough for someone else to slide in.
I feel it in my bones that he was doing something.
But, I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me doubt him—let alone us without any proof. So, I send him a message, hiding all my distrust under measured words.
Me: Hey babe, I quit yesterday. Things got too messy at work, and honestly, I couldn’t do it anymore. I’m still trying to process it all. I’m okay, but fuck them. Just wanted to let you know. Sorry I didn’t message you last night, this shit is just a lot to process, you know.
It sounds fine on the surface, but underneath is the ache I’ll never admit—the sting of giving three years to a job that never valued me, the panic of rent looming over my head, and a savings that’s already being stretched too thin.
Honestly, if it weren’t for Arina, I’d either be homeless or living with him—and the way I’m feeling right now, I don’t even know if that would’ve been better or worse.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzes. His name flashes on my screen, my stomach twisting with something that feels a lot like hope.
Jacob:Damn, that sucks baby. But honestly, you’ve been complaining about that job forever. Maybe now you’ll actually find something better. Don’t overthink it—you’ll be fine.
I stare at the words, the air evaporating from my lungs.Don’t overthink it? I’ll be fine?What the fuck is that. Like I didn’t just tell him I walked away from the one thing that kept my bills paid. The one thing I had stable.
Nowhat happened?Noare you okay?Just a cold dismissal—like I’m some girl at a party oversharing for attention.
Anyone else would’ve heard reason in his words, not the sting underneath—but to me, it sounds like distance. Like he’s already halfway out the door, patting me on the head instead of holding me when I need him the most.
I message him back quickly before my anger spills into the words I’m typing.
Me: Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, babe.
I toss the phone aside, swallowing down every word I really want to scream. I shouldn’t have to teach my boyfriend how to show up for me. He used to do it naturally but lately he’s been making this relationship feel surface level. While my world is slipping, his is steady—and he doesn’t give a fuck to notice.
He doesn’t ask questions anymore. Doesn’t catch the things I don’t to say. It’s like he’s drifting somewhere I can’t reach, and I’m stuck here holding on to the memory of a man who used to be obsessed with just the thought of me.
I’m starting to wonder if he even realizes the difference.
Or worse—if he does, and he just doesn’t care.
Chapter Thirteen
Truth
T
he next few days I bury myself in cleaning—the one thing that lets me pretend I have control over something. I scrub every surface in my room until it looks like a showroom. Everything’s spotless and gleaming— rug fluffed, perfumes and makeup lined up on my vanity in color order.
Satisfying in its own pathetic way, like order can fix what’s broken and magically clear my mind of all my failures.
I move on to the sinks, the cabinets, even the garage and kitchen—because stopping means thinking, and I can’t do that right now.Cleaning gives my hands something real to do when everything else is slipping, muttering to myself.
Don’t overreact.
Don’t explode the next time you see him.
Don’t let the accusing voice in your head scream louder than whatever this is we keep calling love.
Ridiculous pep talk, but it helps.
