I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.
Two options.
Neither of them clean.
A few more week spent by and yet my shoulders never really unfurled. I still felt like I was walking on eggshells waiting for Sage’s next melt down but instead I got—domestic mode like it was muscle memory.
She cooked.
She folded my laundry.
Left little Post-its on the fridge.
Don’t forget lunch.
Call me later.
Miss you already.
Soft Sage.
The version everyone loved.
And it messed with my head more than the fights.
Because while she reset like nothing had happened…
I couldn’t.
I still saw the beach.
Her hands hitting my chest.
The way people looked away.
I still heard that guy at the club.
We were engaged.
I still hadn’t told her.
Didn’t want to.
Didn’t want to light another match.
So I carried it around quietly like a stone in my pocket.
That night, she opened a bottle of wine without asking.
Didn’t turn on the TV.
Didn’t reach for her phone.
Just came and sat next to me on the couch and tucked one leg under herself like she used to when we first started dating.
“Scoot,” she said softly.
I did.
