“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn't think about it. I just kept working.” My voice is small, I have a feeling I’m in trouble.
There's a pause before he speaks. “That's exactly why the rule exists. Because when you're in work mode, you don't notice your own limits. You don't take care of yourself. You get caught up and forget to pause and take inventory of how you’re doing.”
“I know. I'm sorry.”
“I know you are. We'll address it tomorrow. Right now, I want you to close your laptop, brush your teeth, and get into bed.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
“And, Madi Baby?”
“Yeah?”
“I'm not angry with you. But rules exist for a reason. We'll talk about why this one matters and what happens when you break it when we see each other tomorrow night. Now listen to me and go to bed.”
The words send a shiver through me, it’s part anxiety, part anticipation. “Okay.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Goodnight.”
I do exactly what he said. I shut down my laptop, go through my nighttime routine in a daze, and crawl into bed. But sleep doesn't come easily. Because I know what's coming tomorrow.
And part of me, a part I'm still learning to accept, wants it and is looking forward to it, maybe a little too much.
The next evening, Ty picks me up and drives us back to the cabin. The ride is quiet. Not uncomfortable but weighted. His hand rests on my upper thigh; he kissed me when he opened the door for me. He’s not angry, I can tell by his body language, but the unspoken anticipation is felt by both of us.
When we get inside, he gestures to the couch. “Sit. We need to talk.”
I sit, hands folded in my lap like a kid called to the principal's office. He doesn't sit beside me. He stands in front of me, arms crossed, expression calm.
“Tell me what happened last night.”
I swallow. “I was editing a video and I didn't notice the time. It wasn’t right. The music and the timing just wasn’t coming together. I just kept working until I looked up and it was one-thirty. My phone was on do not disturb so notifications wouldn’t pop up in the middle of the editing process and throw me off, or I would have seen your text. I was too focused on the video to realize what time it was.”
He nods slowly. “And that's exactly why the rule exists. Because when you're hyper focused on work, you don't notice your own limits. You don't take care of yourself. You push and push until you're exhausted.”
During one of our previous conversations, I’d admitted to him how I’d ended up in the hospital last year due to exhaustion and dehydration. I have a habit of not taking care of myself. Not knowing when to stop is definitely a weakness of mine.
“I know,” I whisper.
“And what happens when you break a rule?”
My pulse kicks up. “There are consequences.”
“That's right.”
He sits beside me now, close but not touching. His voice softens slightly.
“I'm not angry, Madison. But I am disappointed. Because we agreed on these boundaries for a reason. And when you ignore them, you’re putting yourself at risk, it’s either that or you don’t care about breaking the rule and intentionally are breaking it?—"
“That's not—" I interrupt, then stop. Because he's right. That is what I was saying, even if I didn't mean it. “I'm sorry,” I say quietly.
“I know. But sorry isn't enough this time. You need to understand why the rule matters. You need to feel it and remember for next time.”
