"I hear you," she said quietly. I reached over and squeezed her hand once.
"You not bad," I said. "You hurting." She looked at me then, and something in her eyes softened.
"I just didn't know where to put it," she admitted.
"I know," I replied. I didn't know where to put mine either for a long time. Grief don't come with instructions. It just sit heavy and dare you to carry it. I was grateful that me and Julise were able to have that moment together. It made a difference. It made me see what was really going on with her and how it was all taking a toll on her. She wasn't rebelling for attention. She was reacting to instability. Reacting to silence, and to twoparents trying to survive something neither of us had faced head on.
Spending quality time with my kids had made me feel whole again in a way that I hadn't felt in a long time. Not because they filled some empty space. But because I wasn't moving around them like a ghost anymore. I was present.
Later that night I leaned up against the counter sipping a glass of wine while writing in my journal. My therapist had tasked me with doing it daily, and it was something that I had been able to keep up with. The house was clean. Counters wiped. Dishes stacked. the kids things pushed back into corners. The kids were upstairs asleep and I'd just straightened up the house for the night. I wrote slow.
If nothing changed, could you live like this for five more years? That question still sat in my chest. Could I? Yes. Would I? I wasn't sure anymore. The difference between those two answers felt important.
I wrote about Julise. About the way her voice cracked when she said she felt like I ruined the family. How she didn't want to get used to tension and the fact that she noticed everything. I wrote about the aquarium and how whole I'd felt spending time with the kids. For years, I moved in rhythm with him. Now I was moving on my own tempo.
I heard Jules' keys jiggle in the front door as he entered the house. He hadn't been here in the last two days, and honestly I didn't care to question it. I wasn't counting his absences anymore. I wasn't building narratives in my head about where he was or who he was with. If he wanted to be here, he would. If he didn't, that would show too. I didn't feel the need to chase clarity.
He stopped at the refrigerator looking at the pictures of me, Jezel, and Juelz at the aquarium on Saturday. I had printed them earlier and stuck them up with a magnet. "Y'all went to the aquarium?" he questioned, pointing at the picture. I nodded my head, sipping from my glass. "Damn, it would've been nice to go," he said.
"I bet it would've," I said. My tone wasn't sharp, but it wasn't inviting either.
He turned slightly, studying me. "You could've told me," he added.
"I didn't know you were coming home," I replied in an exact tone. He opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and leaned back against the counter across from me. "You mad?" he asked.
"No." He waited like he expected more. There wasn't any.
"I been busy," he muttered.
"I figured," I said. That used to be the part where I'd press. Where I'd ask where, with who, doing what. Now I didn't. Because my peace wasn't hanging on his explanation. He watched me for a moment longer. I rinsed my glass and set it in the drying rack.
As I turned off the kitchen light, I realized something quiet but certain had shifted.
I wasn't living in reaction anymore.
I was choosing.
My tone.
My space.
My peace.
And whether this marriage stretched or snapped, I wasn't waiting to see what happened to me. I was already becoming someone I didn't have to abandon to survive.
Jules
I watched Nia's silhouette move across the bathroom, stopping in front of the mirror. The light was low, early-morning gray slipping in through the window, cutting her shape into something quiet and steady. She stood there like she had somewhere to be. Like the day already belonged to her. I assumed she was up getting ready for her day. It felt like the perfect opportunity for me. I'd been horny as hell lately. Not even in a reckless way. Tension building up under my skin with nowhere to land. And the only place I ever really let that tension out was with her.
I stepped out of the shower, grabbed my towel off the hook, dried myself off, and wrapped it around my waist. Water dripped from my head down my back. I walked up behind her and pressed myself against her while she ran her fingers through her short hair. Her back was straight and her shoulders relaxed. I grabbed her waist, trying to bend her forward against the counter.
"Unt uh, Jules." She frowned. "I don't feel like all that, and I need to get the kids to school." That made me raise my eyebrow. Her voice wasn't playful. Wasn't teasing. It was final.
"Since when that matter? You don’t feel like it now, or you just don’t feel like it with me? I don't have a choice when I don't feel like all that," I said, backing up and crossing my arms. "You fuckin' somebody else or some? When you stopped coming up off pussy? Your ass creeping out of the house early, disappearing during the daytime." The words came out sharp, but not loud. Controlled. The kind of control that sit right on top of anger and pretended it wasn't there.
She didn't spin around dramatic., she just looked at me through the mirror. "Jules, you liable to fuck somebody else before I am. That's your game, remember? I just learned how to play it better." She said it plain. Then she slipped out of the bathroom, semi-slamming the door behind her.
I stood there a second longer than I should've. My jaw tight. Not because she said no, but because she didn't care enough to argue. She just declined. Like I was an option. I growled low in my throat and moved to get dressed. Pulled on my jeans. T-shirt. Slid my watch on. There was a time she would've pushed back different. Accused me louder. Demanded proof and reassurance. Now? She wasn't demanding nothing.