And for once, it doesn’t feel like pressure.
It feels like possibility.
Back home, the house feels different.
I make tea and actually sit down to drink it while it’s still hot.
I open my laptop and manage to write two full pages before checking Instagram and the PTA WhatsApp group.
My brain feels… clearer. Maybe intimacy isn’t just about sex. Maybe it’s about being seen. About being wanted. About feeling like you’re not carrying everything alone.
Around midday, I hear the bins being dragged down the driveway.
I smile to myself.
See? Effort.
I wander into the kitchen and find Dan there, rinsing out Ruby’s lunchbox without being prompted.
“You okay?” I ask lightly.
“Yeah,” he says. “Figured I’d get ahead of it.”
Ahead of it. The words do something warm and hopeful inside me.
Maybe this is what change looks like.
Not grand gestures. Not declarations. Just small, consistent shifts.
We work through the afternoon in companionable silence. He makes coffee and brings me one without asking how I take it. He remembers.
At one point, he passes behind the sofa and brushes his fingers along my shoulder.
Not sexual. Just there.
I feel chosen.
It’s nearly four when the first crack appears.
He’s back at the kitchen counter, laptop open. His posture has changed slightly. More rigid. More distant.
I notice because I’m looking for it now.
“Can you grab the washing from the machine before the school run?” I call casually.
“Yeah,” he says, eyes fixed on his screen.
I wait.
The washing machine beeps.
It beeps again.
Nothing.
“Dan?” I try again.
“Just a sec,” he mutters, typing faster.
