Jessica hummed, her eyes flicking over me as she made a loose, sweeping gesture with her hand. “Or maybe he’s worried someone else might steal you. Especially now that you’re looking like this.”
I scoffed, waving her off. “Oh, please. Go back to work before your boss comes hunting for you.”
“Okay, okay,” she laughed, backing away.
I reached for my coffee. “So... am I paying for this, or is it on the house?”
“On the house,” she said. “I’m feeling generous today.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Jess.”
—?—
Adrian
I didn’t call her to check on her, because I already knew exactly where she was. Her location had settled at the office hours ago, the familiar pin unmoving, precise. She was safe. Shewas working. Nothing was wrong, and that was never the reason I called her.
I called because she had stopped telling me, and I needed to make sure she didn’t forget I still existed in her daily life, even when I wasn’t physically there.
Elena used to let me know when she arrived, not because she had to, but because she wanted to. It was a simple message, a habit, a quiet acknowledgment that I still mattered in the small, ordinary rhythms of her day. She used to tell me whether she’d just reached the office, stepped out for lunch, gone out with friends, or was heading home after work.
Her face appeared on my screen when she picked up. She was beautiful in that restrained way she’d learned after me. I watched her carefully while we spoke.
When the call ended, I didn’t rush to put my phone away. I stared at the dark screen a second longer, before locking it and sliding it into my pocket.
In therapy, I’d said it plainly. If she pulled back, I moved forward. If she distanced herself, I closed the gap. I wasn’t doing it to cage her or control her, but because I refused to be the man who stood still while his wife slowly slipped away.
And it wasn’t just that she stopped updating me, she stopped reaching for me first. She no longer asked where I was the way she used to, no longer filled the silence between us with questions or small reassurances.
I understood why. God, I understood it better than anyone. I was the one who broke that sense of safety. But understanding didn’t mean I was willing to accept the distance as permanent.
When my plane landed, I didn’t head straight to the hotel. Instead, I went directly to the project site. Work was already waiting for me there, and it pulled me in before my thoughts could linger on Elena for too long.
Once I was geared up—safety vest, boots, and hard hat—I went straight to the reports, giving instructions to the team on site. One of the engineers stood by the temporary table, papers spread out in front of him, frustration visible on his face.
“We’ve got a problem with the material calculation,” he said. “The steel delivered last week isn’t enough for the revised load. That’s why we’re behind.”
I scanned the numbers once. That was all it took.
“Someone used the old soil assumption,” I said. “That margin doesn’t exist anymore.”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
“Order the additional supply. Revised quantities. I’ll sign off on it.”
“There’ll be pushback from procurement.”
“Let them push,” I replied calmly. “The site doesn’t move without the material. End of discussion.”
That was the part of my life that still worked—decisions, control, responsibility. Here, I didn’t hesitate or doubt myself. People listened because they knew I never spoke without reason.
If only marriage worked the same way.
The meeting continued—timelines adjusted, delays explained, solutions assigned—and still, between reports and figures, I found myself thinking of Elena. Of the way this job kept dragging me away from her physically, and how absence only widened what was already fragile between us.
Being gone meant missing moments, and that was the real problem. It wasn’t about the distance or the work. It was the fact that she learned how to exist without me filling every space. I could handle late nights, delayed projects, or pressure. What I refused to handle was becoming irrelevant in my own marriage.
I finished the discussion, dismissed the team, and stood alone for a moment in the quiet that followed. My shoulderswere steady and my expression controlled, but beneath that discipline something cold and resolute settled into place.
