“Okay, yeah, uh, I’m thinking about redoing my business to focus more on local events near my parents. Two people have told me the town is struggling, and I want to be a part of helping somehow. I like knowing the people I take photos of. Maybe I want to do more weddings than events or festivals. Not sure. I even interviewed a college kid to see if I could hire an intern to help with marketing. Did you know that? I don’t think you did. Yeah, you never really asked about my days, so I didn’t share. It started because it hurt, and I felt you didn’t deserve to hear about my days if you didn’t care to ask, but then it became a routine.”
We jerked to the right from a gust of wind, and I cursed.
“Sorry! Sorry! My rambling isn’t helpful.”
“Tell me your favorite memory, something happy,” I demanded. If we were going to crash, I wanted to go out on something positive, not my wife reminding me of the ways I was a shitty husband.
“Our Silly Sundays,” she practically whispered. “Those days together will always be my favorite thing.”
My stomach swooped, not from the black ice but from her comment. Silly Sundays had started as a joke after one ridiculous Sunday where everything went wrong. We referred to that day as the Silliest Sunday and then tried re-creating it every chance we could. We went to the same grocery store where a gallon of milk exploded on us. We visited the bookshop where Laney set off the alarms because her planner’s barcode was weird. We’d then grab lunch at the place where the waiter dropped soup all over us. It had been the perfect storm of bad luck, and instead of being mad, we laughed.
“I loved Silly Sundays too,” I said, pulling onto our street. “Hey, almost there.”
“Good, that’s good.” She sighed.
Not sure if it was from our chat or the storm, but we were both panting by the time I pulled into our garage. Boxes lined the right wall, and it was a sobering reminder that all her stuff was packed.
“Connor.”
“Yes, baby?” I couldn’t stop myself.
She rested her hand on my forearm and dug her nails into my arm.
“Thank you for getting us here safely. Thank you for driving me. I-I would’ve…” She trailed off, closing her eyes as she paled. “I’m not sure what I would’ve done.”
“You’re welcome.” I wanted to say I’d always do this, every day, but she wouldn’t believe me. I had given her no reason to. The answering silence gripped us, and the urge to pull her toward me was so strong I couldn’t breathe.
“We should get inside. Start the fireplace.”
“Oh! Yes! I love that thing!”
I smiled. I had the fireplace installed in this place for her. She sat in front of it all the time, working on her laptop or reading while I worked or took calls. We even moved our recliner so close to it that it was amazing it never caught fire. I have a lot of good memories in front of that fire, but we hadn’t used it this season yet.
We left the car and walked inside. Laney stopped near the kitchen island, staring at the anniversary gift she had given me, and paled. The memory of that night hit me in the gut like someone had tackled me to the ground. The sheer panic of hernot being home the night she left me. The wedding ring she left on the table. The note readingDon’t come after me. My hand was shaking, so I shoved it in my pocket as Laney took a deep breath.
“Uh, my stuff isn’t here.”
“You can borrow anything of mine.” I hung up my coat and then took hers, trying not to let my touch linger. She felt so good. “Do you want an old hoodie?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded, her gaze remaining on the gift. I had no idea if I should comment on it, on how amazing it was, or the fact I had forgotten our anniversary and didn’t buy her anything. Guilt clawed at me, an aggressive, painful bastard that physically hurt my insides. How could I forget our anniversary when I damn well knew it was on my calendar?
Work. That was always the answer.
“Want to grab us some drinks while I get you a sweatshirt?” I needed distance from this room, from the sad look in her eyes and from my mistakes.
“Sure.”
I bolted up the stairs and yanked my tie off. It was suffocating me. I had avoided our bedroom since Laney left, and the lack of her items messed with me. I couldn’t fucking sleep in here. If she left me, forever, I’d move. It was wild how she was downstairs with me because of a blizzard, and I felt alone and terrified.
How do I fix this? How do I convince her I’m not the husband she knew? Was this all a lost cause?
I collapsed onto our bed, covering my face with my hands as I groaned. I had somehow blocked out all the what-ifs, nottruly realizing until now that this could really be the end of our marriage. It took seeing our once-vibrant bedroom half empty for reality to take root.
Was it better to give Laney what she wanted and start healing? Hell, there wouldn’t be healing for me. There’d be work and no joy. The best parts of my life were whenever I was with her. Being around her for a month—if she agreed—might kill me.
But what choice did I have? I didn’t want to lose my wife.
“Connor?” Laney approached our bedroom with a frown.
