I don't remember the last time he brought me flowers. It used to be a thing-small, simple gestures that said I see you. Now, he barely notices if I'm in the room. Tonight, like every night, he ate his dinner without asking me to join him. Didn't ask if I'd eaten, didn't care to find out.
It's almost 11 p.m. The plate sits on the table, barely touched. The carrots, as always, are left behind like they offended him. I stare at them, wondering when I became as invisible as the food he won't eat.
The air is thick with the sharp scent of wine-and something stronger, something that stings the back of my throat. It clings to the walls, to the fabric of his clothes, to the space between us. And that space? It's grown into something vast and hollow, wide enough to get lost in.
Sometimes I think the silence is trying to tell me something. And maybe... maybe I'm finally ready to listen.I drew him a bath, like I always do when the day has drained him-and lately, that's every day. The water ran warm, steady, quiet. It filled the tub with steam that curled along the tiled walls like ghosts, soft and slow.
While it filled, I stood in front of the mirror and brushed my hair, long strokes to pass the time, to feel something move. The rhythm was comforting, mechanical. Each strand fell into place, more obedient than the thoughts spiraling behind my tired eyes.
We've been trying for a child for so long now. At first, it was full of hope-timing, planning, laughing nervously when we'd count the days. But lately, it's just silence. Month after month of nothing. Empty tests. Empty arms. Empty evenings.
I didn't know trying could feel so lonely. But it does. It really, truly does.
And as I listened to the water shut off and the quiet settle back in, I realized-he never once asked if I still believed it would happen. Maybe because he doesn't believe anymore. Maybe because he doesn't care to ask.This awkward distance between us-I knew it had roots in my own choices. Maybe it was karma, I don't know. I used to believe this life we built together was a dream come true. It was all I ever wanted: to marry him, to love him openly, to start a life beside him.
I had been in love with him since the eighth grade. He didn't even know we went to the same school. I was just a quiet shadow in the background while he lit up every hallway he walked through. He was older, charming, effortlessly surrounded by friends. And me? I was the invisible admirer in the crowd, clutching onto stolen glances and the hope that fate might one day nudge us together.
Sometimes, I thought he smiled more around Catherine. That maybe his laughter came easier when she was nearby. But I never blamed him. He never asked to be idolized. I just... wished harder than I should have.
The sharp crack of the bathroom door breaking the silence jolted me. It swung open like it had been shoved-not pushed-and he stood there, his face flushed, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. It had been months since I'd seen him like this, bare-chested, raw. His arms still looked like they could fight the world for me. But his left arm-God. It was bleeding.
I rushed to him, heart in my throat.
"What happened?" I gasped. "What have you done to yourself?"
His eyes met mine, dark and distant, yet softening in the moment. I could feel his breath on my skin-warm, wine-laced-and then his hand, calloused and trembling, gently brushed my hair back. His fingers grazed my lips, then paused, as if memorizing them.
Without a word, he pulled me into him, his arms circling me like a lifeline. He held me-not urgently, not possessively, but with something that felt like quiet desperation. Like he didn't want to let go.
I tended to his wound with shaking hands, the first aid kit between us. And the whole time, he didn't look away. He just watched me, like I betrayed him.The silence between us was delicate, like spun glass-barely holding, almost peaceful. But then his phone rang, sharp and sudden, slicing through the moment like a blade.
He rose without a word, moving toward his coat where the sound kept buzzing, urgent and persistent.
"Who is it?" I asked, my voice low but strained. It was almost midnight. Who calls at this hour?
He didn't answer. He just stared at the screen for a second too long, then pressed it to his ear.
A woman's voice spilled into the room, cracked and weeping. Even from across the space, I could hear her.
"Please... I need you..."
His response came fast, almost automatic. "Sorry, I'll come right this instant."
And just like that, everything in me shattered.
I couldn't take it anymore. We'd argued a hundred times this month, maybe more. Same words, different nights. Me trying to hold on. Him already halfway gone.
"No," I whispered, then louder-"No, not again." I rushed to him, desperate, trying to hold him back with trembling hands. "Please," I begged, "don't go. Not again."
But his hands didn't hold me this time. They pushed. Hard.
My back hit the wall, pain blooming just beneath my shoulder. I gasped, not just from the impact but from the mark he left-on my body, on us.
He grabbed his keys with shaking fingers, rage-or maybe guilt-clouding his face.
"Where are you going?" I cried, my voice breaking into the silence he left behind.
He turned at the door, and his eyes met mine-cold, exhausted, full of something I hadn't seen before. Disgust.
And then he was gone.
The sound of the car faded into the night, and I was alone again. Not just in the room-but in the life I once dreamed of.
I cried until my body gave out, until sleep took me-not gently, but like a wave dragging me under. The ache in my chest throbbed with every breath, but at least in sleep, I could forget. At least there, he wasn't gone. He wasn't angry. We were still us, whatever version of that I kept pretending existed.
But then the pain came.
Sharp, searing-ripping me out of sleep with a force I couldn't comprehend. My scalp was on fire. A blinding, white-hot pain shot through my head as I was yanked backward by my hair.
I screamed.
My eyes flew open to find Daniel-soaked from the rain, water dripping from his clothes, his face twisted into something I barely recognized. Anger. Hatred. Resentment.
"What are you-stop!" I cried, thrashing beneath his grip. "You're hurting me!"
But he didn't stop.
His hand came down hard across my face, the slap landing with a sound that echoed inside my skull. My cry was ragged, strangled by disbelief and pain. I tried to crawl away, to shield myself, but he was faster. Stronger.
He grabbed me again and slammed my face against the wall. My vision blurred. The world tilted. And then, close to my ear, I heard him-his voice low, cracked, almost calm.
"Hailey," he whispered, "you fucking disgust me."
6th December 2012 - 8th Grade.
It was supposed to be a fun day-Annual Sports Celebration, loud music, excited voices echoing through the hallways. But instead of a medal or a certificate, I got... my period. Not just a little. A full, unforgiving betrayal of timing.
There was no one around. Not a single girl I could turn to. Our cell phones had been collected by the teachers, and I was stranded, clutching my stomach in a locked restroom, trying not to cry.
And then-I heard footsteps. Someone was walking past the hallway.
"Please-stop!" I shouted, my voice trembling. "I need help."
A pause. Then a voice-resonant, calm. "What is it?"
Oh no. It was a guy. A man, even.
"Oh god... it's a boy?," I muttered under my breath, panic rising.
"Well," he replied with a trace of humor in his tone, "I just came out of the men's room, so yeah, last I checked... I'm a man."
Despite everything, I let out a short, nervous laugh.
"Can you-can you just call a girl? Please?"
"That'll take forever. If it's urgent, maybe just tell me?" he offered.
"No... you won't understand," I whispered, my voice breaking, shame washing over me. The cramps were getting worse, and my skirt was ruined. I couldn't even bring myself to look him in the eye. My cheeks were on fire.
I heard rustling-he was digging through his bag. I stayed frozen, one hand gripping the sink, the other trying to hide what couldn't be hidden.
Then I caught a glimpse through the tiny gap in the door. He placed something gently on the ground. As he leaned down, the light hit his badge. School Captain.
A 12th grader. Oh no. My humiliation was now complete.
I still couldn't see his face clearly-either he was just that tall or the door's peephole was comically low.
He tapped twice on the door. "It's gonna be fine. I'll bring someone. Just stay here, alright?" And with that, he took off down the hall.
When I finally worked up the courage to crack the door open, I stared down in disbelief.
There, resting on the floor, was his jacket... and a tampon.
( present)
I felt my world tilt beneath me as his words sank in. You disgust me.
Everything blurred. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. I just stood there, shaking, trying to make sense of what had just happened. This wasn't the man I fell in love with.
He grabbed my face roughly, forcing me to look at him. My skin flared with pain under his touch, bruised and swollen from the force he'd already used. I trembled beneath his gaze, still hoping-somehow-that he'd soften, that he'd realize what he was doing. But he didn't.
He let go and collapsed onto his side of the bed like I was the one who'd hurt him.
"Pathetic," he spat. "You ruined my life."
His words cut deeper than his hands ever could.
I tried to move, but my body refused. Every inch of me ached, inside and out. My limbs felt like they belonged to someone else-heavy, numb, broken. Eventually, I forced myself up, dragging my feet toward the bathroom.
When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized the girl staring back at me. Her face was a map of bruises, her nose bleeding steadily, her eyes wide with disbelief. She looked lost.
And for the first time, I realized-I had to leave.
No dramatic exit. No slamming doors. I just slipped out, as quietly as I could, clutching my phone and a coat. The cold air outside hit my face like a slap, but it was nothing compared to what I was leaving behind.
I didn't know where else to go, so I went to the only place that felt remotely safe.
Jane. My best friend from college. The one person who'd always seen me, even when I couldn't see myself.
I ran until her porch light came into view, and only then did I let myself cry.On the way to her place, Jane didn't ask any questions. Not a single word.
She just kept her hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed ahead, jaw clenched-not with shock, but with the kind of stillness that comes from knowing.
"I felt it coming," she said softly, finally. "Ever since the day you told me about the mistress."
She reached for her phone then, her fingers moving fast, dialing the authorities before I could even process what she was doing.
"No-please, don't," I said quickly, weakly. My voice didn't even sound like mine.
She looked at me, torn. "Hailey..."
But I couldn't explain it. I didn't even understand it myself. There was a strange fog around my thoughts, like if I spoke the truth out loud, it would become permanent-too real to ignore. And maybe some part of me still wanted to believe it hadn't happened.
I stayed with her in silence. Days passed in a blur of sleep, hot tea, bandages, and a grief I couldn't name. My body healed slowly. My mind didn't.
Two weeks went by.
Not a single call. No message. No apology. Nothing.
Maybe I was dead to him already.
I kept wondering-when did it go wrong?
Was it the night I confronted him?
Was it the day I stopped pretending everything was okay?
Or had it been slipping away quietly, long before I even noticed?
23rd December 2012- Pre-Christmas Celebrations
The classroom buzzed with festive chaos-glitter stuck to fingertips, clumsy paper snowflakes dangling from ceiling fans, the smell of glue, candy, and powdered snow in the air. I was deep into my art project, focused on getting the curves of the paper tree just right when Joanne Prescott approached my desk.
"Do you have glue? And scissors?" she asked, not even bothering to smile.
I hesitated. Not because I didn't want to help, but because something about her always made me nervous. Her sister was a senior, part of the student council, and everyone knew she had a reputation for holding grudges. Saying no wasn't really an option.
"Yeah... sure," I said quietly, sliding the supplies toward her.
It was only for a second-maybe less. I stepped away to grab an extra sheet of card from the supply shelf. But when I came back, my stomach sank.
My project was ruined. Torn. Scraped with glue, the colors smeared. Someone had deliberately destroyed it.
I opened my bag, hoping it was just the art-but the damage was worse. My chocolate box was gone. And so was the jacket. His jacket.
The one he left for me. The one that still carried the faintest trace of rain and something warm, something safe.
Gone.
Joanne noticed the panic in my face and rushed to my side.
"It's okay," she said quickly. "It's fine. My sister's in student council. She can help. Come on."
We hurried down the hall together, heart pounding, past students with Santa hats and tinsel, straight to the office where her sister sat behind a stack of papers.
Joanne explained what happened while I stood silently beside her, staring at the floor. Her sister listened carefully, her face creasing with concern.
"We'll look into it," she promised. Then her eyes flicked to me. "But... why didn't you hand in the jacket? We were collecting lost and found items last week."
I froze.
I didn't answer.
Because the truth was too embarrassing. Because I couldn't admit that I was holding onto it-onto him. A stranger who hadn't even seen my face.
Because I had started to like the boy who left a tampon and a jacket for me, who knocked twice on the door and said, "It's gonna be fine."
And because somewhere deep down, I was clinging to that memory as an excuse-hoping maybe, just maybe, I'd see him again over Christmas.
25th December 2012 - Christmas Night
After the performances were over, I found myself seated beside Joanne, legs tucked under my chair, the fabric of my uniform still stiff with glitter and tape residue. The hall smelled like cinnamon and cheap decorations, and my back ached from the long day of rehearsals.
The seniors were performing now-something traditional, overly rehearsed, and painfully slow. I tried to stay focused, but sitting in the audience was worse than being on stage. My eyes were beginning to drift until Joanne leaned in and whispered, "Here comes my sister."
I straightened up, alert.
The student committee walked onto the stage-polished, proud, and poised. The lights dimmed slightly as the opening notes of Ubi Caritas began to play.
That's when I saw him.
At the piano.
My breath caught.
It was him.
The boy from the hallway. The stranger who left me a jacket and a kind gesture when I needed it most. And now here he was under soft golden lights-his fingers gliding across the keys with a calm intensity. He looked so different in that moment-sharp features softened by concentration, eyes reflecting the glow of the stage, posture composed like he belonged there, in a way no one else did.
He wasn't just playing the piano-he was the music.
I couldn't take my eyes off him. My heartbeat echoed in my ears, matching the gentle rhythm of the melody. He looked unreal, as though he had stepped out of a storybook and into this quiet, fleeting moment.
When the final note rang out, the hall was hushed for a second too long.
And then I started clapping.
Loudly. Too loudly.
My hands moved before my mind could catch up, clapping over and over, the sound echoing sharply. People turned, confused. Joanne looked at me like I'd lost my mind.
"Why are you clapping like that?" she whispered. "What's funny?"
I couldn't stop smiling.
His name. I'd finally heard it.
"Thank you for being with us tonight," the principal announced. "And a special thanks to the student council-and to Daniel, our school captain, for the beautiful performance."
Daniel.
I bit back a laugh, joy bubbling out of me like a secret I could finally keep.
"I've just... never felt this happy before," I whispered.
Joanne tilted her head, half-concerned. But I didn't care.
For once, happiness wasn't something I had to explain. It was just his name-and the way it felt when I said it in my head like a prayer. "Hailey..." Jane's voice trembled. "I have bad news."
The world blurred after that.
The next thing I remember, I was running-down the long white corridors of the hospital, breath caught somewhere between my throat and chest. Jane was beside me, guiding me with a grip on my arm, but everything felt distant, unreal.
Then I saw her.
His assistant.
The one I accused of sleeping with him.
The one I humiliated in front of a room full of people at his birthday.
The memory of that night stung like a fresh burn.
She looked startled to see me, awkward and unsure, like she didn't know whether to speak or step aside.
"Where's Daniel?" I asked, barely able to get the words out.
She straightened, voice cool and composed. "Miss Joseph... he's resting now. He's out of danger."
Her words should have comforted me. But instead, my knees weakened.
He was alive-but not okay.
He had crashed.
Drunk driving.
I pressed my palm to the wall for balance, then stumbled toward his ward. I hadn't seen him like this before-pale, bandaged, wires attached to his arms and chest. The machines beeped rhythmically beside him, indifferent to the war unraveling inside me.
Oh God.
I gasped as I took it all in.
His face, once so sharp and sure, now looked so young, so still.
For the past few months, something between us had fractured. It started small. Little arguments. Tension. The kind every couple has. But it grew. He started drinking more. Losing patience. The warmth in his voice had slowly been replaced with something colder-something unfamiliar.
Now here he was. Broken.
And all I could do was wonder if I had pushed him to this edge.
Was it my fault?
Was it the lies I told?
My selfish need to keep him close, even when we were falling apart?
Had I loved him too much... or not enough?
Tears blurred my vision as I whispered, "I still love him."
Jane stood at the door, arms crossed tightly across her chest. Her eyes-usually kind-were hardened with something else. Disappointment. Maybe fear.
She turned to leave, her hand frozen for a second on the doorknob.
Then, without looking back, she said through clenched teeth, "He'll be the end of you."
The door slammed shut behind her.
And I was left alone in the room-with the man I loved, and all the ghosts of the life we tried to build.