I wake early the next morning, already rehearsing how to smooth things over with Adrian.

  Maybe he’s not ready to start trying again. I should have spoken to him in private. Not like that.

  The house is spotless. Throw blankets are squared. Counters wiped until they gleam. Dinner waits on the stove, prepped and ready. Everything in its place. Because if the house stays perfect, maybe the cracks in my marriage will look smaller by comparison.

  Control is a performance. And I intend to stick to the script.

  My phone buzzes. It’s Nia.

  I hesitate, then answer anyway.

  “Hey.”

  “Morning,” she says, light but steady. “I’m heading to the outlet. I need a new purse and an attitude adjustment. Probably a Coach Tabby. You good?”

  I exhale. “Yeah. Just heading out to run errands.”

  She doesn’t press right away. I hear her nails clicking against the screen as she answers a text.

  “You tryna dodge my question,” she says finally, warm but sharp. “How’d therapy go?”

  My throat tightens. “It was… a mess.”

  I expect her to tease me. She doesn’t.

  “You don’t have to say more,” she says gently. “I already know your voice.”

  I nod, even though she can’t see me. “I was trying to fix this. I thought maybe… I could remind him we’re still us.”

  I pull the phone away and stare at the screen, my thumb hovering. I don’t want this conversation. Not right now.

  “You know what Auntie used to say,” Nia continues. “‘Don’t bend so low trying to keep a man that you forget how tall you are.’”

  I close my eyes. Let the words settle. Let the shame sting.

  I know.

  “You ain’t wrong for wanting love, Selene. Just don’t let it drain you dry.”

  My voice cracks. “I just wanted him to look at me.”

  “He will. But if he don’t see you clearly, that’s his lack—not your worth.”

  She doesn’t linger in the softness. She never does.

  “Alright. I’m buying something reckless. Call me if you see a sale.”

  I smile, even though my heart doesn’t. “I will.”

  I hang up and tuck my phone away, the quote echoing in my head like scripture I almost believe.

  I slip on my heels and head to the outlet mall. Today isn’t just about an apology. It gives me a reason to see him.

  One store has a cologne display near the door. The scent drifts into the walkway—rich, sharp. I close my eyes and inhale. Heat rushes my skin. For a moment, I can see him. Adrian. Before the silence set in.

  The scent is masculine, familiar enough to sting.

  This will do.

  I carry it to the counter, swipe my card, and smile at the imagined look on his face.

  Declined.

  My smile falters. I swipe again.

  The cashier’s half-smile is polite. Pitying.

  My pulse picks up as I pull out my phone and log into my account.

  The numbers hit me square in the chest.

  Lower than I imagined. Lower than I’ve ever let it get.

  My ears ring as I force a tight smile. “I’ll come back for it,” I mutter.

  The bottle stays on the counter as I walk out, each step heavier than the last.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Outside, the cold air bites my cheeks, but the embarrassment burns hotter.

  When did I stop checking my balance?

  I scroll again, slower this time.

  And then I see it.

  This isn’t neglect.

  It’s him.

  Adrian has been pulling money out.

  Quietly. Consistently.

  It isn’t just the cologne I can’t afford. The joint account is nearly empty.

  I don’t go home after the outlet.

  I tell myself I’m just bringing Adrian lunch. No big deal.

  But really, it’s an attempt to spark something back to life, dressed up as romance.

  The glass doors of his office building glare under the winter sun. I smooth my blouse before stepping inside, smiling politely at the receptionist.

  “He’s in a meeting,” she says. “But you can wait.”

  I nod and turn away from the chairs. The hallway opens up in front of me.

  The door is cracked. Just enough.

  “…you said it was handled,” Adrian hisses, low and sharp.

  Another voice answers—deeper, coated in false calm. The kind criminals wear the way others wear cologne.

  “Handled costs more when people ask questions. Especially when those people have titles.”

  The voices draw me forward before I decide to move.

  “I’m not putting more in,” Adrian snaps. “We’re done.”

  The man laughs. Short. Ugly.

  “Then explain why everything still points back to you,” the man answers.

  Silence.

  I can almost hear Adrian’s jaw grinding.

  “This doesn’t end because you say it does,” the man says. “And when it comes apart, your wife won’t be the only casualty.”

  My pulse roars in my ears.

  I step back before either of them sees me, schooling my face into neutral. By the time Adrian steps into the hall, I’m already walking toward him, holding the bagged lunch like it’s the reason I came.

  “Hey,” I say lightly. “Surprise.”

  He stares long enough to measure me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I was nearby. Thought I’d bring you something.” I hand him the bag.

  As he takes it, I keep my voice casual.

  “Hey… weird thing. My card got declined today. I checked, and the joint account is… low. Lower than I’ve ever seen it.”

  His shoulders stiffen.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  I tilt my head. “That’s not really an answer.”

  His eyes go cold. “I said don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.”

  I force a smile. “Okay. I’ll let you get back to work.”

  He doesn’t kiss me goodbye.

  That night, I stay in the kitchen long after the front door closes. I hear Adrian’s footsteps pass straight by me and up the stairs.

  Twenty minutes later, I follow and find him asleep on the bed, still in his suit.

  My eyes burn. I turn and rush to the bathroom, splash cold water on my face. It can’t stop the tears.

  I stare at my reflection. Red eyes. Pink nose. Curls plastered to my cheeks.

  The world blurs.

  In the mirror, I’m wearing a hospital gown again.

  My fingers drift to my abdomen. Empty. Hollow.

  Something clamps down behind my ribs. I press a hand there, like it might ease if I hold it.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them, I’m back in the bathroom.

  The water still runs. A sharp hiss against porcelain. Pipes groaning, voices stretched into distant wails.

  The scent of soap stings. Clean. Floral. Artificial. A cruel contrast to antiseptic and blood.

  I blink, disoriented. The gown is gone. Just my damp blouse. My curls. My breath shallow and uneven.

  But the ache remains. Phantom weight. A missing heartbeat.

  I turn off the faucet, hand trembling. The sound stops. The loss doesn’t.

  I slip into bed beside Adrian. The silence presses heavier than his body ever has.

  The next morning, I sit at the kitchen table, staring at cold eggs and toast. I trace the rim of my coffee cup, thoughts spiraling.

  How did we drift this far apart?

  The front door opens. Adrian walks in. Familiar. Distant.

  He avoids my gaze, moves straight to the coffee machine.

  “Morning,” I say softly.

  “Morning,” he replies. Flat.

  The air between us feels sealed. Stale.

  “I’d love it if we could share dinner tonight,” I try. “Really talk. Like we used to.”

  He pauses. Fingers curl around the coffee pot.

  He exhales. Barely audible. Dismissive.

  “I’m busy tonight. Work stuff.”

  My stomach drops. “Oh,” I murmur. “Maybe another time…”

  He doesn’t respond.

  I stay at the counter, staring at the space he leaves behind.

  Alarica’s phone buzzed in her pocket as she sipped her stale coffee. She glanced down and opened a picture message from Jason. A handful of her coworkers were crowded together in the shot, scrubs still on, grinning with drinks in their hands.

  A wink emoji followed.

  She smiled despite herself, her eyes landing on Jason. The security uniform fit him well, broad shoulders filling it out easily. His dimples showed when he smiled—bright, straight teeth and that simple charm she’d already noticed more than once. He was handsome, no denying that.

  But she’d made herself a promise never again.

  Mixing work with anything personal had already cost her too much—part of her sanity and part of her life. So Jason would stay exactly where he belonged. Handsome and far away.

  She liked the photo as a reaction, then locked her phone and took another sip of her cold coffee.

  ***

  The login page took longer than usual to load, or maybe it just felt that way. She checked the username again, her hands trembled slightly as she typed the password slowly, afraid a mistake would reset the clock on her nerves.

  Cybersecurity.

  She’d applied for the program, aced the classes, all that was left was the certification exam results.

  Tiffany rested her head on Alarica’s thigh, her tail curled under her legs. The laptop casted a faint glow across her face as she sat in the dark, the blackout curtains shutting out the light.

  Invalid credentials.

  Her stomach dropped.

  She drew a deep breath through her nose, then let it out carefully. Her fingers went to her hair, gathering the short strands at the nape of her neck and pulling them into a small, tight ponytail.

  She forced herself to try again.

  When the dashboard finally appeared, her heart started pounding hard enough that’s she could hear it in her ears. Beneath her name and her exam date was a link to her results. Alaric’s stared at the screen, one hand resting on Tiffany’s head. Her fur was soft and familiar beneath her palm, rising and falling with each sleepy breath. She let the rhythm ground her, her thumb tracing the same small arc again and again while the cursor blinked, waiting. Alaric’s reminded herself she’d studied, that she’d known the answers, still her pulse refused to slow.

  She clicked. The page went white while it loaded. For a split second she imagined having to explain this to her supervisor, to herself. The white page snapped into text.

  She read the word once.

  Then again.

  Her eyes swelled with tears as she let out a cry of relief.

  She had done it. She passed.

  She was one step closer to where she needed to be. One step closer to the answers.