Love & All Things Broken

Twenty-three. That's how many minutes it took before I heard the garage door opening—who was counting though? I'd been pacing between the kitchen and den, touching the locket clasped at my neck over and over. Repeatedly forcing myself to stop touching it—then touching it again. The weight of it felt strange and comforting at once—like wearing someone else's centuries-old heirloom that somehow felt made for me.

The door from the garage opened. Caden's keys hit the hall table with what felt like more force than necessary. I heard his footsteps pause in the kitchen—I could swear he was out of breath.

"Felicity?" His voice carried that same nervous energy from the phone call.

"Right here," I said as I rounded the corner. I'd jumped up from the couch, once I heard him come in. I'd thought the couch would help me look casual, but who was I kidding? My heart was hammering against my ribs and wait—was I the one who was out of breath? I forced myself to calm down. In for five, out for five.

We stood there, facing each other—him in his work clothes, me in a t-shirt and leggings. He looked disheveled in a way that was totally unfamiliar—tie loosened, hair mussed, eyes bright. He was holding a pizza box from Florina's. He must have swung by on his way home. It's been our favorite pizza place since even before we got married. The sight of that box made something flutter in my chest.

"You got the pizza," I said, pointlessly stating the obvious because I didn't know what else to say.

"I stopped on the way. Got your favorite—extra basil, two slices of pepperoni, ricotta, and eggplant," he said. (It's delicious. Don't judge!). He set it on the coffee table, his movements careful, deliberate. "And I may have also grabbed some caramel corn too. It's in the car. I was just—I wanted to make sure you were still here first."

His vulnerability hit me square in the chest. This man was always so sure of himself—yet now he was scared I'd disappear in twenty-three minutes.

"I'm here," I said softly. "I'm not going anywhere."

Relief washed over his face so completely that I had to look away for a moment. When I looked back, he was staring at the locket around my neck, his expression unreadable.

"It's perfect on you," he said, his voice rough. "Even more beautiful than I imagined."

I touched it instinctively. "Caden, this is—I don't even have words. The locket, the donation, the volunteer work. How long have you been planning all of this?"

He leaned against the side of the kitchen table, leaving space between us but angling his body toward mine. "God, I wish I could say months? But truth? When you left, I sat down and talked to Macy—told her about the purse. I talked to her about what happened. She was so upset that she hadn't even thought of you when she found the purse though—in her defense, it was all my fault ... I am the one who hid it inside her closet." He rubbed his hands down his face and mumbled, "such a stupid mistake."

He stood up straight and continued, "Macy and I talked. We knew you didn't want the purse back; you'd said as much—and I couldn't blame you! I knew it would always come with the awful memories of what happened. So we talked. She was the one who came up with the idea of donating it for a good cause. Then I thought of the necklace. And we both decided on the inscription—it was her idea for the picture though." He said that last bit with a smile.

"It was?"

"Yes—and I realized something."

I felt tears prick at my eyes again. "What was that?"

"That it was never about the purse. It was about you feeling invisible. About you feeling like your feelings didn't matter to me." His voice cracked slightly.

The space between us felt like an ocean. I wanted to reach for him, but something held me back—maybe I was afraid to break whatever fragile thing we'd just started to repair.

"So, we started researching organizations," he continued. "Macy found Project Place. Did you know they specifically help women rebuild their careers after domestic violence?"

My breath caught. "She found Project Place?"

"Yes. She was looking through different websites, and when she read about Project Place, she got so excited. She said it was perfect because you'd told her once about how important it was to help women who needed a fresh start." He paused, studying my face. "She somehow knew you'd love it. She didn't seem to know details, but I assumed you were talking about Maliyah."

I touched the locket, my throat tight. "Yes. I had mentioned it, but a long time ago. I guess she held onto it." I had to think back—It must have been a year ago. I'd been writing a check to a charity and she'd asked me about it, having not seen a check before—Gen Z is Venmo, after all.

I'd explained and told her much I admired women who had the courage to start over. I remember thinking of my sister, Maliyah—how far she'd come.

"You're right, though, I didn't mention details—I'd never do that. Macy's just a kid. Plus, it's Maliyah's 온라인카지노게임, and I don't share the details without her permission." Damnit I forgot I told my sister I'd call her this week.

He nodded. "I figured as much. I know you wouldn't have told her about those details. It's a lot, too much really for someone her age."

He went on. "There's more, though," Caden said gently. "When we contacted Project Place about the donation, we learned about their volunteer program. Macy suggested we shouldn't just give something up for what we did, we should also give our time." A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "She said she learned in school about 'philanthropy,' and how giving your time can sometimes be as important as giving money.

I was crying again. My sister—what she went through—no one could know how deep this landed.

He continued on, "Macy's not here to tell you herself, but she planned something else too. While we volunteer, she made a little folder with a 'menu' of experiences you could choose from. She wanted you to have options—something just for you."

I sat in silence, absorbing it all. That they chose Project Place felt bigger than coincidence. It felt like the universe trying to tell me something.

"And the locket?"

"That was me." He shifted closer, just slightly. "I wanted you to have something that reminded you every day that you're part of our family. That you're seen. That you're loved." He paused. "The photo was Macy's suggestion though—she said it was a happy memory and could help you."

I smiled through tears. "I remember that Christmas. I forced you both to take that picture. You were surprisingly compliant."

"She thinks we look genuinely happy in it."

"We were."

"I can't believe you two planned all of this together."

"We did. And Felicity—" He turned fully toward me now, his eyes intense. "I need you to know something. This isn't guilt. This isn't me trying to buy my way out of the mess I made. It's me trying to show you how special you are. That I was wrong. That I should have been giving you special things all along, showing you how essential you are."

I touched the locket at my throat again, feeling the weight of it against my skin. "Can I tell you something? About the purse versus this?"

He nodded, waiting.

"The purse—" I paused, trying to find the right words. "It was beautiful. It was something I'd wanted. But it was just a thing, Caden."

I paused to gather myself. "You bought it because I told you exactly what to get. But that's all you did—buy it. You checked a box and moved on. And honestly, after last year's Saks gift card? I was bracing for worse."

His flinched slightly and his face fell, but he didn't look away.

"I know I never said anything. I should have. But part of me wanted to see if you'd notice the disappointment on your own. You didn't. And that kind of broke my heart."

"Felicity—"

"I'm not done," I said, holding up a hand. "I need to say this."

"This—" I lifted the locket slightly, feeling its weight. "The locket isn't about money. It's the kind of gift that says, 'I know you.' Every detail—from the design, to the photo, to the engraving—it says you thought about me. You thought about the things that make me feel loved and you made it into something I will wear forever."

Tears were rolling down my face, but I pushed through. "The purse said 'I bought you something you wanted.' This locket says 'I see you.' The donation and volunteering say you see what I value. The idea that Macy has a menu of things for me to look at also tells me that she is thoughtful and wants me to know that I matter."

Caden's eyes had filled with tears too. "God, Felicity, I'm so sorry it took me so long to understand that."

"That's what I was trying to tell you that night when I was so upset. I told you then—it was never about the purse alone. It was about feeling like a transaction instead of like someone you love. Like you were purchasing my happiness instead of actually caring about it."

I shifted closer to him. "This locket—I can feel how much thought went into it. I can feel you and Macy talking about what would make me smile, what would remind me every day that I'm cherished. That's what I was missing. Not expensive gifts—though they don't hurt!" I smiled. "It's evidence that I'm in your thoughts in a way that matters."

"I do think about you," he said softly. "I think about you all the time. I just—I got so focused on the company that I forgot about connecting."

"I know that now. I think what I want to see though, is that it's sustained too. That this isn't just a passing moment on the road to forgiveness that will later be forgotten."

"I've been thinking about what you said. About feeling buried under my stuff, about me not really seeing you. And you're right. I got so caught up in providing for us, in building this life, that I forgot to actually live in it with you."

He reached toward me, then stopped, his hand hovering in the space between us. "Can I—?"

I nodded, and he moved closer, taking my hands in his. His palms were warm, slight calluses, familiar in a way that made my chest ache.

"I don't want to just be two people who happen to live in the same house," he said. "I want to be partners again. I want to be the couple who stays up too late talking, who makes each other laugh until our stomachs hurt, who actually sees each other every morning over coffee."

"I want that too," I whispered. "But Caden, I need you to understand—this isn't something that gets fixed with one conversation. Or one beautiful gift, as perfect as it is."

"I know." He squeezed my hands gently. "I'm not expecting everything to turn back time. I get that isn't possible. I'm just asking for the chance to show you, day by day, that I heard you. That I'm committed to doing the work."

I studied his face, looking for any sign of the dismissiveness that had become so familiar over the past few months. Instead, I saw fear, hope, determination, and something I'd almost forgotten—the man I'd fallen in love with all those years ago.

"Okay," I said finally. "But I have conditions."

"Name them."

"First, I want to move back into our bedroom, but I'm not ready for us to be intimate yet. I want to lie next to you, and I really, really want our bed back. I think we need to buy a new bed for the guest room because it is absolutely terrible on the back." I laughed but then sobered. "I still need to take this slow."

He nodded immediately. "Yes. Absolutely—to everything. Whatever timeline you need. Can I hold you though—in bed?"

I thought for a minute. Realized that I really missed his arms around me. The intimacy of being held. I am a cuddler. It's eye-opening how hard it is to be untouched for so long and how lonely it feels. "Yes. But that's our line, okay?"

At his nod, I continued. "Second, we're still doing counseling. Both of us, together. This is not a way out of that."

"Agreed. Completely. I've already researched three therapists," he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. "I thought I would call them today and see if they are accepting new patients. If they are, then we can figure out together where we want to land."

I blinked in surprise. "You already—when did you do that?"

"When I got to the office. I looked through our plan and found a list of people covered, focused on those with experience who were local and with those who mention flexibility in their availability too."

Something warm unfurled in my chest. "Okay. That's good."

Taking a breath, I continued. "The third condition: we establish new boundaries around work. No phones during meals, no emails after nine p.m., and you don't cancel on family time unless someone is literally dying."

"Done." He didn't even hesitate. "Anything else?"

I considered, then smiled slightly. "Pizza's probably getting cold."

He laughed—the first real, unguarded laugh I'd heard from him in months. "Pizza. Right. I'll warm it in the toaster oven. Should I grab the caramel corn from the car?"

"In a minute." I watched him put the pizza in to warm and then led him to the couch where we settled into our spots, next to each other. "What show did you want to marathon?"

"Whatever you want. I know you probably want to catch the new season of Gilded Age. I'd be happy to watch it. I know I complained it was too slow, but I will watch whatever you want."

I raised an eyebrow. "You hate that show."

"I hate a lot of things when I'm not really paying attention to them. But if you're watching, I'm watching."

He got up to get the pizza and plates from the kitchen, and I used the moment alone to touch the locket again. The metal had warmed against my skin, and it felt so right. When he came back, carrying plates and napkins, I noticed he'd changed into a t-shirt and shorts.

"You changed," I observed.

"I wanted to be comfortable. Plus, these clothes don't carry the smell of stress and fluorescent lighting."

I laughed despite myself. "You smell like stress?"

"According to Macy, yes. She said I've been carrying myself like someone preparing for battle instead of someone coming home to his family."

He handed me a plate and settled beside me again, closer this time but still leaving space. The pizza was still warm, the cheese perfectly melted, the basil fragrant. I realized I was hungrier than I'd thought.

"This is good," I said after a few bites.

"It's the same pizza we've been getting for years."

"I know. But it tastes different today."

He looked at me, a question in his eyes.

"Better," I clarified. "It tastes better."

We ate in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the rain against the windows and the quiet hum of the house around us. It felt strange—foreign, almost—to be sitting here together in the middle of a weekday, no rushing, no agenda, no one needing to be anywhere else.

"Can I ask you something?" I said eventually.

"Anything."

"When you were planning all of this—the donation, the necklace—were you scared I'd say no to today? To giving us another chance?"

He set down food, considering. "Terrified," he admitted. "Because I knew that if you said no, it would mean I'd broken something I couldn't fix. And the thought of losing you, of losing us—" He shook his head. "I've never been more scared of anything in my life. I did this to us and I couldn't turn the hands of time back."

The weight of his words settled between us. I reached for his hand, intertwining our fingers. I knew this conversation wasn't just difficult for me. It was a lot for both of us.

"You didn't do this alone, Caden. I stopped fighting for us too. I started accepting the crumbs instead of asking for the whole meal."

"Why?"

"Because asking meant risking being told no. And somewhere along the way, I got tired of being disappointed." I squeezed his hand. "But I don't want to be that person anymore. I don't want to be someone who settles for being unseen."

"You shouldn't have to be. And I'm going to spend however long it takes proving that to you."

I believed him. Not because the problems were solved—they weren't—but because for the first time in months, I felt like he was really here with me. Present. Engaged. Fighting for us instead of just coexisting.

"So," I said, reaching for the remote, "Gilded Age?"

"Gilded Age," he confirmed.

As the opening credits rolled, Caden got up to retrieve the caramel corn from his car. When he came back, he also had a blanket—the soft throw from our bedroom that I'd always loved but had left behind when I moved to the guest room.

"In case you get cold," he said, settling back beside me.

I pulled the blanket over both of us, and slowly, tentatively, I let myself lean against his shoulder. He went very still for a moment, as if afraid to move and break the spell, then carefully wrapped his arm around me.

We stayed like that for hours, eating caramel corn straight from the container, occasionally commenting on the outfits and the intrigue, scoffing at certain ridiculous scenes. It was ordinary and extraordinary all at once—the kind of afternoon we used to have regularly but had somehow lost along the way.

Around mid-afternoon, I felt my eyelids getting heavy. The emotional exhaustion of the morning, combined with the warmth of the blanket and Caden's steady presence, was making me drowsy.

"You can sleep if you want," he said softly, his voice rumbling in his chest beneath my ear. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

I let my eyes drift closed, listening to the rain and the voices from the TV along with Caden's heartbeat beneath my cheek. For the first time in months, I felt safe. Not just physically safe, but emotionally safe—like I could let my guard down without worrying that I'd wake up to find myself invisible again.

Just before I fully drifted off, I felt Caden press a gentle kiss to the top of my head.

"I love you, Felicity," he whispered. "I'm so sorry it took me so long to remember how to show you."

I wanted to respond, but sleep was pulling me under. Instead, I snuggled closer to him, my hand finding its way to rest over his heart.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new conversations, new work to be done. But today—today we had remembered how to just be together. And that felt like everything.