But it all feels… far. Like I’m watching someone else’s life from the outside.
Back at mydad’s house, he whisks them off on a made-up “treasure hunt,” and I catch Hannah watching him like she’s remembering a time when this felt easier.
Later, I hear the shower shut off in the guesthouse. Hannah walks out in leggings and a black tank top, hair wet, skin glowing in that familiar way that used to stop me in my tracks. I still notice. Of course I do. I’m notblind. She’s beautiful, and she is my wife. And this part of my life? It still exists. This love doesn’t just vanish because we’re figuring things out.
Dinner was great, Maggie showed up. The girls are running barefoot in the yard. It’s easy. This version of life is the one I used to know.
After, I help Hannah bring the bags into the guesthouse. “You sure you want to crash in Leo’s room?” she teases. “This feels like punishment, just sleep with us.” We arranged the storage room so they could stay here, with two twin beds and a tiny nightstand.
Hannah is putting the girls to sleep, and I can hear them fighting even though they’re exhausted. I’m in the other room in bed, going through emails and tomorrow's to-do list. “They are finally asleep,” she let out an exhale and dropped to the bed next to me.
She rolls toward me, fingers brushing my shirt. “Did you miss me?” And of course I did, I do, every day. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Of course I’ve missed you.” Then she kisses me. But she’s guarded. It’s like she’s asking for my permission to kiss me. And for a second, just a split second, I let her, and I kiss her back. I love this woman, and in a perfect life, I could have both of them. But in reality, I know I can’t, so just before the moment it gets more intense, I stop.
I press my forehead to hers. “I can’t.” She pulls back just a little, eyes glossy but steady. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” I say. “Don’t be. It wasn’t just you. It was both of us.” I sit up. Swing my legs over the side of the bed. “It’s just that I don’t want to mess things up. You askedfor a break, and I’m trying to respect that. I’ll take the couch.” She nods. “Okay.”
The couch is too small. The cushions suck. But I lie down anyway and stare at the ceiling.
Everything aches. But I made the right call.
I wakeup with a stiff neck, the sunlight stabbing through the curtains like it has something to prove. I groan, sit up slowly, and try to remember what day it is. What version of me am I supposed to be?
When I make it into the main house, the girls are already up, mid-bite, cereal all over the table. Hannah and my dad are laughing like this is just some Tuesday morning in 2018. Maggie’s just walked in, bag dropped on the floor, animated as hell.
“You look like the couch won,” Hannah says, amused. She’s not wrong. “It did.” She hands me the cream. Her fingers brush mine. “I was just telling Maggie that my flight’s at four. Thought maybe we could grab a late lunch before I go?” I nod, clearing my throat. “Yeah, sure. I’ve got a site thing with Josh this morning, but I’ll be back in time.”
“Great.” She smiles. “The girls would love that.” I sit there for a few more minutes, nodding at whatever Maggie’s talking about. But my head’s already halfway across town.
I text her as I pull up to the boutique hotel.
Me: Headed in. Need me to pick you up?
Olivia: Already on my way. See you there.
She rolls in five minutes later in a navy sundress, hair windblown, coffee in one hand like she owns the damn day. She steps out of her car, and I don’t even hesitate—I walk right up, wrap my arms around her waist, and kiss her.
She melts into it for half a second, then pulls back, blinking like I short-circuited her. “What was that for?”
She watches me for a beat. “You, okay?”
I almost tell her. About last night. About how Hannah kissed me, how I kissed her back before pulling away. I nearly say the thing I haven’t admitted out loud: that I’m confused as hell, and tired, and the guilt is eating me alive. How is it that I feel guilty for kissing my wife, but I don’t regret a single thing that has happened with Olivia? This doesn’t make sense. But love doesn’t have to make sense, right?
She’s been through enough, so I lie. “I’m just really happy to see you.” She nods and smiles.
We get to work. Audrey sent over some spreadsheets. We discussed the site plans, and Olivia checked the vendor’s requirements. They give me headaches.
By noon,I check my watch. “I need to head back. Grabbing lunch with the girls and Hannah. I’m taking her to the airport after.” Olivia nods without looking up. “Of course. Go.”
When I get home, I hear Hannah before I see her. “No, that’s unacceptable. You’ve had me on hold for thirty minutes, and now you’re telling me there’s no other flight out today?”
She’s pacing the hall barefoot in yoga pants and a tank, damp hair twisted up, skin still flushed from the shower. “What’s going on?” I ask.
“Flight’s canceled. Storm system over the city. Nothing out till tomorrow.” She’s clearly pissed. “I’ve been trying everything. I might have to stay another night.” I pull out my phone. “Let me check.” She’s right. Since nothing is going out today, I booked her the earliest flight for tomorrow and texted Olivia.
Me: Change of plans. Hannah’s flight got canceled. She’s staying one more night. Booked her for one tomorrow. Sorry.
Olivia: Totally understand. Thanks for the update.
