Longing was a stupid word, but that’s what it was — coiled low in her belly, hot and insistent, demanding attention. The kind of ache she’d once mistaken for inevitability.
She studied Gwen the way you study something you’re trying to memorize: the curve of her cheek, the faint frown line even in sleep, the hand curled loosely on the pillow like she was holding on to something unseen. It was ridiculous how badly Maggie wanted to reach out, to smooth Gwen’s hair back, to trace the line of her shoulder with a fingertip.
How badly she just wanted their marriage to be something it wasn’t.
And then came the counterweight, heavy and deliberate. She remembered Gwen’s laptop open on the kitchen counter, glowing at midnight while Maggie sat in the dark, aching and raw. Remembered how Gwen’s phone would buzz duringdinners, during movies, during everything, and she’d always answer, always prioritize. Remembered sitting alone in the surgery clinic waiting room after the termination, wishing for something more than Gwen’s quiet, strained smile after the fact. Thought of the hollow, dark space that had cracked open inside of her when her mother died, and how Gwen’s comfort was well-meaning but too clinical, too careful — like she was afraid to feel it with her.
All those absences added up. Maggie reminded herself of that. Forced herself, really. Because otherwise she’d just get pulled under again, the way she always had.
She forced herself to focus, to catalog each reminder like a nail being hammered in:This is why. This is why.
They didn’t work. They hadn’t worked for a long time. The chemistry was still there, sure — but chemistry didn’t cook a meal or sit through grief or remember anniversaries. Chemistry didn’t keep you from feeling abandoned.
Gwen murmured again, shifting onto her side, her back now to Maggie. And the pang that went through her was humiliatingly sharp.
She clenched her jaw, staring at the ceiling.This is why, she repeated silently.This is why we’re divorcing. This is why.
But the ache didn’t care about logic. It just stayed, stubborn and alive, right there under her skin.
Maggie surfaced slowly,head pounding, mouth cotton-dry. The room was still dim, blackout curtains doing their best impression of midnight, but voices tugged her awake.
Whispered voices.
She cracked an eye. Gwen sat on the edge of the pullout, hair perfectly coiffed like she hadn’t been face-planted in a pillow all night. Izzy was perched beside her, both of them hunched conspiratorially, mugs of hotel coffee steaming between them.
“I’m just nervous,” Izzy was saying, voice low but too awake for this hour. “Like — what if I’m not enough for all of it? Not just Kiera, but the girls. It’s not just one person I’m marrying. It’s a whole family. And what if I mess that up?”
Maggie blinked, her stomach lurching before her brain caught up. She pushed herself upright, blanket tangling around her legs. “What?”
Both their heads whipped toward her, looking as guilty as teenagers caught smoking behind the gym.
“Izzy,” Maggie rasped. “Why are you nervous about marrying Kiera? You two are disgustingly in love. You’re like domestic lesbians with matching lunchboxes.”
Izzy laughed weakly. “I know. But I’m serious. She’s got the girls, she’s got her routines — teaching, school drop-offs, bedtime, all of it. I love them, but sometimes I feel like I’m sneaking into a life that already worked fine without me. What if I don’t fit?”
Maggie groaned. “I mean, love is chaos, right? It’s also work, and guilt, and compromise, and sometimes… sometimes it just stops working, no matter how much you want it to.”
The words came out too fast, too sharp.
Izzy frowned, glancing between her and Gwen. “Wow. Thanks for the pep talk.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Maggie said, rubbing her temples. “I just mean… love doesn’t fix everything. Sometimes it hurts more than it helps.”
“Or,” Izzy said carefully, “maybe sometimes it’s worth the risk anyway.”
Maggie looked at her and felt the heat rise in her face. “Sure. If you’re brave enough to keep believing in it.”
Gwen cleared her throat, giving Maggie a look that clearly communicated:you might want to stop talking.
Izzy reached out, squeezed Maggie’s ankle gently over the blanket. “You know we love you, right? Even when you’re ahungover asshole who goes full doom prophet before breakfast.”
That earned a weak laugh out of her. “I’m a delight in the mornings.”
Gwen huffed a small sound that might’ve been a laugh. “Sure you are.”
Before Maggie could say anything back, the suite door swung open so hard it hit the stopper. Pete burst in like a storm, wearing sunglasses the size of serving platters and clutching a Liquor Barn bag like it contained the cure for hangovers.
“Rise and shine, sweethearts,” she rasped, voice shredded. “I come bearing vodka and Gatorade. Don’t say I never loved you.”
