Jared sat on the couch, his eyes fixed on the door as if sheer willpower would make it swing open. Jerica was never late. Ever. But tonight, the clock had inched past half-past eight, and the silence in the apartnt gnawed at him.
The rhythmic sound of the raindrops on the window offered him no solace.
He’d left work early, because he had to take care of sothing. He returned early to join her for dinner. Yet here he was, staring at the untouched plates of food on the dining table. She wasn’t eating his cooking these days either, not that he could bla her.
His throat tightened as he thought back to that night—the night that still sent a cold shiver down his spine. He had lost it when he found her subrged in the water. The sight had paralyzed him with fear, and when she brushed it off, like it was nothing, sothing inside him snapped.
She was all he had. How could she not understand that? How could she not realize her worth to him? He had apologized—over and over—but the space between them had only grown.
He picked up his phone, checking it every ten seconds, hoping for a ssage. Anything. His fingers hovered over the screen, ready to type out a question, to ask her where she was. But he stopped. She already thought he was too controlling, that he didn’t trust her. If he pressed now, she’d only pull further away. He could ask when she got ho.
God, he hoped she was safe.
Out of habit, he opened their chat thread, and sothing strange caught his eye. He scrolled up. The last ssage from her? A grocery list. A month ago. He scrolled further, and his chest tightened—more lists, all for cleaning supplies.
He hadn’t even noticed she was buying them herself for the past month. She used to rely on him for that, but now... Now she was doing it all on her own.
He scrolled further, dread creeping in with every swipe. When was the last ti he texted her first? Four months ago. He had asked what she wanted for dinner. Six months ago, he’d sent his location because he’d be late. Before that... His breath hitched as he saw how sparse their conversations had beco. They used to text all the ti, playful banter, updates throughout the day, even when they were both at work.
How had he missed this? Their marriage was unraveling right in front of him, and he hadn’t even noticed.
Jared pushed up from the couch, heading to his study, heart pounding in his chest. He pulled out the old leather-bound diary from law school, flipping through the pages, searching for the red marks—his shorthand for the monts that mattered.
Red was for Jerica, for the days he spent with her, the days that were worth rembering.
His heart sank.
The last three months? Not a single red mark. Before that, maybe a couple—an evening walk, a quick lunch at a fast-food joint. Nothing that stood out. His hands trembled as he flipped back faster, desperate to find the last real mont they had shared.
Finally, he found it. Eight months ago. A movie date. Dinner. Passion that had reignited their connection, at least for a night.
Eight months. Eight. His throat constricted. How had he let so much ti slip by? No wonder she was distant. No wonder she looked... lost. He had been absent—emotionally, physically, in every way that mattered.
"Eight months..." The words were barely a whisper, but they cracked in his throat, raw with disbelief. Guilt, sharp and unforgiving, settled in his chest, a heavy weight pressing down with every beat of his heart. He had let her slip away.
He rubbed a hand over his face, frustration bubbling up. Work had been relentless, sure. But he’d let it take over, using it as an excuse to retreat, to let the distance grow.
And then... that night. Eight months ago. She had said sothing to him, sothing that stung. He had let it fester, and without even realizing it, he’d started ignoring her. He thought he was giving her space, being considerate of her needs. But all he had done was build a wall between them.
Jared raked a hand through his hair, sinking back onto the couch. Their bed had grown cold, their laughter replaced by silence. He was to bla for all of it. There was no denying that now.
Desperate for answers, he opened his laptop and pulled up their joint account. They had three accounts—his, hers, and the joint one they used for household expenses.
The joint account had been her idea to contribute equally, even though he hated the thought of making her spend her money for their family. It was his duty as the man of the household, he thought.
She had wanted to be treated as an equal, and he respected that. They put equal share of their household expenses.
But as he looked through the recent transactions, his stomach dropped.
She hadn’t been using the joint account for months. He clicked further, his pulse racing. She hadn’t transferred or withdrawn any money in three months.
What had she been using for the household expenses? She took care of all the paynts. If then... Was she using her own account?
His mind raced. She was still paying the rent, the utilities. But not from the joint account. How had he missed this?
His thoughts spiraled back to their anniversary, the mont he first saw the distance in her eyes. He had convinced himself it was temporary, just a small crack in their relationship that could be fixed with a little effort. But now... fear gripped his heart. He had been blind.
And then, he rembered. The brown envelope she had brought with her to breakfast that morning. It wasn’t an office file, was it? Why would she need that at ho?
His eyes drifted toward the supply closet, where she kept things he never bothered with. It was her space, her safe zone. Could she be hiding sothing there? Could she really be planning to leave him?
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