Sitting at the kitchen table long after she'd gone upstairs, I found myself staring at the two forks we'd shared and the empty plate between us. The house felt different with her in it—unexplainable, really—not whole, but less hollow than it had been while she was gone.
I pictured her sleeping in the guest room. My fingers itched to touch her—to play with her hair. My lips burned to kiss her face. My arms longed to just hold her. And my heart ached to repair hers.
I picked up the forks and walked to the sink, washing them slowly, deliberately. It felt meaningful to make sure the mess was cleaned up—a representation of the work I needed to do internally too. I wanted Felicity to wake in the morning knowing I spent time taking care of this—hoping she would see that I will do this exercise with everything messy and disastrous in our life.
The kitchen was spotless now. I'd spent hours making sure of it, but somehow it still didn't feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough.
I walked to the window and looked out at her garden—really looked at it this time. In the moonlight, I could make out the different areas, including the bench where she would probably sit in the morning tomorrow since the weather was going to be nice.
How many times had I walked past this window without seeing what she'd built? How many mornings had I missed her sitting out there, reading, thinking—just being?
I pressed my hand against the cool glass. The conversation kept replaying in my head—her voice breaking when she explained having to fly to another state to remember who she was. The way she'd looked at me when I listed the plants in her garden, shocked that I'd noticed anything at all.
Then why didn't any of that matter when it came to remembering my birthday?
Because I'm an idiot. I'd said it, and I'd meant it, but it felt too simple. Too easy. I wasn't just an idiot—I was a man who'd gotten so lost in his own priorities that he'd forgotten the most important thing in his life was sitting right next to him, slowly disappearing.
My phone buzzed.
Cash: How'd it go?
I stared at the screen, sighing as I tried to figure out how to answer. How did it go? She came home. She talked. She didn't leave. But she also didn't forgive me, and she shouldn't have.
Me: We talked, but she's still sleeping in the guest room.
Cash: Fuck. I'm sorry man.
Me: No, it's good. I mean, not good... but fair, you know?
Cash: You doing okay?
Me: We're going to try therapy.
Cash: That's something, yeah?
Me: Yeah. Maybe.
I set the phone down and walked through the house, turning off lights, checking the front door. Going through nighttime routine helped settle me—even though nothing about this was normal. At the bottom of the stairs, I stopped and listened. No sound from upstairs. She was probably passed out—exhausted from traveling and from everything we'd just been through.
I wanted to go to her. Not to try anything, not to push. Just to check— does she have enough blankets? Was the room too cold? Did she notice I had swapped out one of her pillows so I could still feel her with me? She probably did—she notices everything.
But I couldn't. I knew she wouldn't want me to come knocking tonight—for any reason. So, I walked by the room, grazing my fingers on the door lightly as I passed.

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Love & All Things Broken
RomanceRead Caden and Felicity's 온라인카지노게임 today! Their marriage is on the rocks. She feels forgotten and invisible to him. He is distracted and more focused on work and pleasing others than his wife. How will they resolve this? Will they? Will Caden be able t...