“Maybe,” I sigh, putting the plate away on the bedside table, despite having eaten less than a third of the portion Rachel set aside for me.
I’ve only just gotten her back. I can’t lose her again. And here I am, moping around, feeling like shit, becoming a burden on her when there’s already so much weighing on her shoulders.
I’m dragging her down with me when I should be lifting her up.
I need to get her out of this place.
I love her too much.
“How about this,” I start, framing her face with my index and thumb. “I promise I’ll think about it… if you take some time for yourself and get out of the house.”
“What? No!” She grasps the hand that’s on her face, squeezing it as shock flashes through her eyes. “I’m not leaving you alone.”
“I think it would do you some good to get some air and some space.”
“I don’twantspace from you, Karan.”
I brace myself for the first lie I’ve ever told my wife. “What if I need space from you?”
Hurt registers all over her face and in the slump of her shoulders.
She opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” I force a smile and kiss her forehead, lingering there for a moment with my eyes shut. “You did nothing wrong, love. I just need to be alone for a little bit. Is that okay?”
Rachel swallows and holds on to her elbows.
“Yeah, okay.” She stands, picks up the untouched mug and the plate piled high with food. “But you’ll call me if you need me, right?”
I nod to reassure her.
She heads into the kitchen with the coffee and food, and I listen to her move around our home while she gets ready. I treasure every sound she makes, holding on to it like a tiny treasure that I don’t know I’ll ever be worthy of again.
When she’s finally ready to leave, she returns to the bedroom, adorned in her thick winter coat and boots.
She pulls me close, her lips brushing against mine in a soft goodbye kiss. I don’t deserve her gentleness, but I let it anchor me anyway. Her arms linger around my shoulders for a moment, and I feel the weight of her worry pressing into me like a second skin.
When she finally lets go, I watch her leave, the door clicking softly shut behind her.
The silence that follows is deafening.
I wander through the condo without purpose, each step heavier than the last. The floor beneath my feet creaks faintly, the only sound in this hollow space that should, despite everything, still feel like home. My fingers trail along the walls as I pass, brushing against picture frames showcasing our little family at various stages of our lives. Happy moments frozen in time.
I wish I could dive back into them.
The kitchen is spotless, of course. Rachel’s been keeping up with it, though I’ve all but checked out. I open a cabinet, not even sure why. The rows of neatly stacked plates and cups greet me with nothing to say. I close it again and lean against the counter, staring out the window.
It’s a dreary day today. Clouds hide the sun, but it’s not snowing, either. A crow perches on the power line and tilts its head at me as if it knows something I don’t. I look away.
I should be doing something.
Anything.
But the weight in my chest holds me in place. It’s like being trapped in quicksand. The more I think about moving, the deeper I sink. My breath feels too loud in the stillness, and I press my hands to my face, trying to ground myself. It doesn’t work.
A quiet thought creeps in, uninvited. Unwelcome.
I don’t want to look at it. Entertain the reality that it exists. But it’s there, at the back of my mind, vying for my attention.
