“Of course, sweetheart.” She sets down her papers, and the warmth in her voice when she talks to them makes my chest ache. “Go set it up, and I’ll be right there.”
The twins disappear, and Chloe stands, avoiding my eyes.
“Chloe, wait.” I catch her wrist gently. “Talk to me. Please. Whatever’s wrong, we can figure it out.”
She looks at me then, really looks at me, and there’s something in her eyes. Fear, maybe, or resignation, and it makes my stomach drop.
“I’m okay,” she says again. “I just need a little space to think. Okay?”
“Space to think about what?”
“About—” She stops herself, shaking her head. “Never mind. It’s nothing. I’m just stressed about work and that position. I want it bad.”
She pulls away and heads to the living room, leaving me standing alone in the kitchen, feeling like the ground just shifted beneath my feet.
That night, she comes to bed late. I’m still awake, waiting, and when she slides under the covers, I reach for her.
“Hey,” I murmur, pulling her close. “I missed you today.” But she’s stiff in my arms, not melting into me like she usually does.
“I’m still here.”
“You know what I mean.” I kiss her shoulder. “You’ve been distant. Pulling away.”
“I’m not pulling away.”
“Chloe—”
“I’m tired, Jonah. Can we just sleep?”
She’s beside me, but she’s not here. She’s hiding something. But I don’t know how to push without making it worse, so I hold her and feel her slowly relax, her breathing evening out.
But I can’t sleep.
I lie there in the dark, listening to her breathe, and try to figure out when everything changed. When she started looking at me like she was waiting for me to disappoint her.
When she started planning… an exit.
The next morning, she doesn’t show up at the bakery.
At six, I text her.
Jonah: Everything okay?
She responds twenty minutes later.
Chloe: Sorry, needed to catch up on sleep. See you at lunch.
But at lunch, she’s at the school. Something about a faculty meeting she forgot to mention.
By Thursday, I’m starting to panic.
She’s slipping away, and I don’t know why. Don’t know what I did wrong or how to fix it.
Jake finds me in the kitchen, staring at a batch of bread dough I’ve been kneading for ten minutes too long.
“Boss, you’re going to overwork that dough.” He takes it from me, setting it aside. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
