He freezes.
“…No. I forgot.”
Of course he did.
“I was busy,” he adds quickly. “It was a long day.”
“So was mine.”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again. “I’m helping. I took the bins out.”
I stare at him.
“That’s your defence?”
“I’m saying I do things.”
“You do visible things,” I say quietly. “You don’t do the thinking.”
He frowns. “I just don’t get why you’re always so angry.”
There it is.
I swallow, steadying myself.
“I don’t feel like your wife, Dan,” I say. “I feel like your housekeeper. Your PA. The person who makes your life run so you don’t have to think about it.”
He stiffens. “That’s not…”
“And I don’t want to be needed,” I add, my voice wobbling now. “I want to be chosen. To be wanted.”
Silence.
“And I don’t want to hate you,” I say. “But I’m starting to.”
That lands.
We end up on the patio, the cold biting through my sleeves. Dan sinks into one of the chairs, elbows on his knees.
“Is this it?” he asks quietly. “Are we just… like this now?”
The question knocks the air out of me.
“I don’t know.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t want this.”
“Neither do I.”
The words shake. I hate how much I still want him. How my body still remembers the weight of his arm around me in bed, the way he used to pull me close without thinking.
“I don’t think we’re in love anymore,” I say.
I regret it instantly.
He looks up. Hesitates.
“I don’t know,” he admits.
