Sarah
Matthew is so darned confusing! I think to myself as I shower for the second ti tonight.
One minute, he declares he hates . The next minute, he calls beautiful and makes love to like I am the most precious thing in the world. I don’t know how much more I can take of this roller coaster.
What is he doing to ? And why am I letting him?
It’s almost easier when he is angry at . It is sothing I’ve grown accustod to. Sadly. But when he is so sweet to , sothing twists in my heart.
Part of wants to pull back, to shut it all down before I get hurt, but another part of wants to believe that maybe, just maybe, he loves .
I step out of the shower, wrapping myself in a towel, my skin still humming from the pleasure of our lovemaking. I wonder if he is aware of how much he affects , how his words can break and heal in the sa breath.
Oh, I am sure he is aware. He is totally playing , isn’t he?
Isn’t he?
I groan out loud.
He is suddenly here in front of , his eyes watching carefully. "What’s wrong? Why did you just groan?"
I blink. "How did you hear that? Have you been standing outside my door this whole ti?"
Matthew shrugs, leaning against the doorfra. "I was passing by. You weren’t exactly quiet."
I clutch the towel tighter around . "Well, I didn’t think I needed to be quiet in my own bathroom."
His eyes travel down my body, lingering on the water droplets trailing down my neck, before eting my gaze again. "You didn’t answer my question. Why did you groan?"
I consider lying, but what’s the point? "Because I don’t understand you, Matthew. One minute you hate , the next..."
"I still hate you," he says.
Yeah, right.
"Don’t overthink," he says firmly. "I am only being nice to you because you are pregnant."
"With a child you refuse to acknowledge as yours," I remind him.
His face hardens, jaw clenching. "Right."
I imdiately regret my words. Why do I keep pushing him? Why can’t I just enjoy the monts of peace between us?
"Matthew, I—"
"No," he cuts off, pushing away from the doorfra. "You are right. Let’s not pretend, Sarah."
I step toward him, one hand still clutching my towel. "But that’s just it—I don’t know what’s real anymore. When you touch like that, when you look at like I’m..." I trail off, unable to finish.
"Like you’re what?" he challenges, his voice low.
"Like I’m special to you. Like you love ," I whisper.
"In your dreams, wife," he says in a flat tone, but the corner of his lips twitch.
"Whatever. I won’t talk about this anymore," I say, shaking my head.
"Good," he says. "Neither will I."
And with that, he leaves, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.
I stand there for a mont, staring at the door, trying to process everything.
Is this it? Is this how it’s going to be? This back-and-forth, this push and pull, never really getting anywhere? One minute, he makes feel like the most important person in the world, and the next, he’s distant, almost like I’m nothing to him.
I don’t know what hurts more: the distance or the closeness.
With a sigh, I slide back into the bed. His warm body is next to mine, his eyes closed.
I curl up next to him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge as I settle in beside him, but I can feel the heat radiating from his body, comforting and infuriating all at once.
How is it possible to feel both cherished and abandoned by the sa person?
I watch him as he sleeps, his features softened in rest, and for a mont, I almost believe that things could be different. Maybe he really does care. Maybe he’s just scared. Or maybe I’m just fooling myself, clinging to hope when all I’m really doing is setting myself up for more pain.
But I don’t want to leave him either.
~-~
The next morning, I wake up to find Matthew’s side of the bed empty. For a mont, I just lie there, listening to the quiet sounds of the house.
I stretch. My hand drifts to my stomach, a habit I’ve developed recently. The baby bump is barely noticeable yet, but knowing it’s there fills with happiness.
I get dressed in comfortable leggings and an oversized sweater. I find Matthew in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee while scrolling through his phone. The morning light catches on his profile, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows as he concentrates.
"Good morning," I say, my voice still slightly rough with sleep.
Matthew looks up. "Morning."
Marishka slides a plate of toast and eggs in front of with a warm smile.
"Thank you," I murmur then look at Matthew. "I was thinking about my parents’ anniversary party."
Matthew raises an eyebrow, waiting.
"I need to get a new dress," I continue, pushing my empty plate away. "An evening gown my mother will approve."
He sets down his coffee. "And?"
I take a deep breath. "Would you co with ? To the dress shop, I an."
Matthew stares at for a long mont. "Why?" he asks finally, his voice neutral.
I shrug. "I could use a second opinion. And you know how my mother is. If I show up in sothing she doesn’t approve of, I’ll never hear the end of it."
"And you think I know what your mother will approve?" He sounds amused.
"Maybe? I don’t know. Will you co or not?" I ask hurriedly.
Matthew sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Fine," he says, shocking . "I’ll go with you."
I try to hide my smile, but fail miserably. "Really?"
"No need to look this happy," he warns. "I’m not exactly known for my fashion expertise."
I giggle. "I can’t help it. We need to get you new suit too."
Matthew rolls his eyes. "I have a perfectly good suit already."
"But this is a special occasion," I insist. "You need new ones."
"My suit is fine, Sarah," he says firmly, but I can tell he’s wavering.
"Please? It’ll be fun," I say, trying to sound casual. "We can make a day of it. Go for lunch afterward."
Matthew eyes suspiciously. "Is this your way of asking on a date?"
My cheeks warm at his teasing tone. "Maybe. Is that so terrible to ask my husband for a date?"
He studies for a mont, then sighs dramatically. "Fine. But I’m not trying on a hundred suits."
"Just five or six," I promise quickly, earning a groan from him.
"I am so excited!" I chirp and stand up. Maybe I got up too quickly because I suddenly felt a wave of dizziness. I grip the table to steady myself.
"Sarah?" Matthew is at my side in an instant, one hand on my elbow, the other at my waist. "What’s wrong?"
"Just stood up too fast," I murmur, embarrassed by the concern in his voice. "I’m fine."
His eyes narrow as he studies my face. "Maybe we should do this another day."
"No," I say firmly. "I’m perfectly fine. Just a little dizzy spell. Happens all the ti with pregnancy."
Matthew frowns but doesn’t argue. "If you’re sure."
"I am," I insist, straightening my shoulders. "Let’s go," I say, afraid he will change his mind if we wait too long.
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