Josh arrived, and I called the ladies back inside. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt—like we were both standing on the edge of something too big for us. I was about to send my daughter into the wild with a stranger, and he was about to spend an evening with the girl who made his heart stutter for the first time. I told him he looked great because that’s what I was supposed to do, even though it was true. He smiled and loosened up a little, but his shoulders were still stiff as a board. Then he spotted Rosie. His whole face cracked open with boyish wonder as he dashed toward her like he’d found a rare Void Critter card or something.
“Can I pet your dog??” he asked. “My mom loves dogs, but my dad is allergic, so we can’t have one.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. “We have two…but I guess you know that.”
Rosie soaked it all up, tail waving in the air like a flag signaling she’d made a lifelong friend. Funny how dogs always knew who’s good and bad.
The girls came back in then, radiant and buzzing with their own energy. Sophia had her phone ready, about to herd them back outside for more pictures, but Desi cut her off with a reminder that the school hired a professional photographer. So instead, we did the little rituals right there: last-minute hugs, reminders to have fun, half-teasing threats to behave. We walked them to the door, watched them step into the evening, and lingered on the porch until they disappeared down the street. The silence they left behind spread like fog, dense and impossible to see through. I turned quickly, already planning my escape: a leash, the garden, anything that led me away from the weight Sophia and I would have to face.
“Luca.”
Her voice followed me like a hand on my back. I kept moving.
“Luca, please.”
That word froze me in place. Please. She rarely used it with me, not like that. I closed my eyes and exhaled through my nose.
“Can I have five minutes?” she pleaded. “That’s all I’m asking.”
I turned, slowly, like the floor was quicksand. She stood there with her arms crossed tight against herself. Something in her eyes made me feel both cornered and cared for. Despite trying to avoid this, I could never deny her anything, so I relented.
“Five minutes,” I muttered. My tone was sharp, but my chest pounded like it knew I’d agreed to much more.
She followed me into the kitchen, where I plopped onto the sofa like Desi had just a few hours ago.
Her voice was steady, but the edge in it cut clean through the air between us like those judgmental eyebrows from this morning.
“We’re drifting, Luca. I don’t want to go into a new year pretending everything’s fine. It’s our anniversary! We should fight for us! We won’t make it if we keep on this way. We need help.”
Her words landed hard, like a slap without the sting—just the echo. Dub and Maia tried counseling, and they’re divorced now. My parents too. Mama begged for counseling, but Dad shot it down because he knew the issue was beyond repair. It disappointed her that he didn’t try, but I didn’t blame him. Talking in circles to a therapist was like trying to nail fog to a wall. Nothing sticks, and you just feel foolish for trying.
I blinked at her in disbelief.
“Seriously?” I asked, sharper than I meant.
She didn’t flinch that time. Didn’t even blink. Just met me straight on, like she’d rehearsed this moment.
“Yes. I want us to get counseling. Not because I don’t believe in us, but because I do! You won’t talk to me, so we’ll find someone you will talk to. I’m not giving up on us, but I can’t fix this by myself.”
Her tone wasn’t loud, or pleading, or angry, but it cracked something open inside me. It was a warning dressed in love—a line drawn. I sat there, gut twisted, mouth dry, throat crowded like I’d choke. I wanted to argue, but all I could hear was the gentle threat beneath her words: we won’t make it. If she walked away, it would be on me. My nightmare finally real.
I forced my voice to be flat, clipped, giving nothing away. Even with everything I felt, I wasn’t ready to give her the satisfaction.
“If that’s what you want.”
It came off colder than I meant, but I couldn’t take it back. For a moment, she just looked at me. The silence stretched so long I swore I could hear my own pulse. Then she exhaled, the sound thin and shaky, like her strength had finally cracked around the edges.
“It’s not just what I want, Luca,” she whispered. “It’s what we need.”
Her voice was soft but soaked in ache, and when she walked away, it left me sitting in the wreckage of my own silence. It spread wider than before—thicker, heavier, almost mocking. I perched on the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, hands wrapped around my head.
She said we won’t make it, and for the first time, I believed her. The thought alone sent a chill crawling down my spine. My stomach churned. I’d lived through loss, abandonment, betrayal—but the idea of losing her? That was something else: something that would end me. I pressed my palms into my eyes until the pressure made little shapes dance in the dark, like I could block the words from replaying, but they just looped louder and louder: we won’t make it…we won’t make it.
I thought silence was survival, that if I held still long enough, the storm would pass. But she shattered that illusion, and now the storm wasn’t outside anymore. It was here, in the house, with nowhere left for me to run.
