I slide under the duvet, staring at the ceiling in the dark. The sound of his snoring fills the room; rhythmic, oblivious. I turn my head to look at him. I wonder if he ever feels it too. That ache of wondering when we became these people. The ones who talk logistics more than laughter. The ones who share a bed but sometimes feel miles apart.
I wonder if he misses me. Not this version; the one who’s constantly managing the chaos, but the me that existed before. The one who laughed at his jokes, who stayed up late, who didn’t flinch when someone said, “Want another drink?”
I shift, turning on my side, facing him. “Do you ever think about it?” I whisper into the dark. “About before?”
He doesn’t answer, of course. Just another snore, low and steady. I huff a quiet laugh, not quite humour, not quite sadness.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Didn’t think so.”
I lay there, eyes wide open, the ceiling fading in and out of focus. It’s quiet except for the hum of the radiator and Dan’s breathing. Somewhere down the street, a fox yelps. The house creaks, settling into itself.
I close my eyes, but my mind doesn’t stop. It never does. It loops back through the day; the mess, the shouting, the laughter, the endless repetition of tiny, forgettable moments that somehow make up my whole existence.
And yet, I think, this is it. This is life. Not the shiny version, not the one you imagine when you’re twenty and planning a future. This is the raw, chaotic, beautiful, exhausting reality of it all.
My eyes open one last time.
“Is this it?” I whisper.
The question hangs in the air, unanswered.
Dan takes one large breath and lets out a snore as I lay quietly contemplating my own question.
Maybe tomorrow will be different.
But deep down, I know, it probably won’t.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DAN
Emma thinks I don’t notice.
That’s the first thought in my head as wake.
She thinks I don’t see the way she goes quiet at night. The way she turns onto her side and folds into herself. The way she hesitates before touching me.
I notice.
I just don’t know what to do with it.
She looked beautiful last night.
That’s the inconvenient truth.
Exhausted, yes. Hair scraped back. No makeup. But there’s something about her like this, soft and unguarded, that still does something to me. Truthfully, she still gives me that deep feeling in the pit of my stomach like she always has.
And I want her. Not just in the marriage sense but physically too. I just can’t tell if she wants that and I don’t want to be a pushy dick by asking.
I roll onto my back and rub my face.
I haven’t got a clue what she wants.
That evening, I do something I haven’t done in weeks.
I text Harry.
Dan:Pint? Old Oak.
