Page 16 of Broken Vows

I close my eyes, feeling a headache building behind my temples. “Maybe not to you, but it upset Jeremy. He’s been even more distant since that night.”

“Well, that sounds like a Jeremy problem, not a me problem,” Lilly replies, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice. “Have you considered that maybe he’s just stressed from work?”

Her words hit a little too close to home, echoing the excuses I’ve been making for Jeremy’s behavior.

“That’s not the point, Lilly. I’m trying to tell you that your actions had consequences.”

“Look, Alexis,” Lilly says with a sigh, “I appreciate you calling, but I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill here. It was just a dinner conversation. If Jeremy can’t handle a few innocent questions, maybe there are bigger issues you two need to address.”

Her dismissal stings, leaving me feeling small and foolish. “Right,” I say, my voice tight. “Well, I should go. I’ve got… things to do.”

“Alright, hon. Take care. And try not to stress so much, okay? It’s not good for you.”

The call ends, leaving me feeling more alone than ever. I stare at my phone, a mix of anger and hurt swirling in my chest. Is Lilly right? Am I overreacting? Or is she brushing off my concerns too easily?

I turn back to my sketch, and figure out what colors and what else to add to it.

Chapter Ten

My phone sitssilent on the kitchen counter, mocking me with its blank screen. It’s been three hours since I texted Jeremy about needing to talk. Three hours of silence that speak volumes.

I pour myself another cup of coffee, though my hands are already jittery from the previous two. The fruit bowl still sits on the counter, half-finished in my sketchbook, waiting for colors that I can’t seem to choose. Everything feels wrong today–the light, the silence, even the air feels thick with unspoken words.

The sound of a car door slamming outside makes me jump. Through the kitchen window, I watch as Jeremy walks up our driveway, his orange work shirt bright against the grey afternoon sky. He’s home early. My heart pounds against my ribs as I hear his key in the lock.

“Hey,” he says, dropping his lunch box on the counter. His eyes meet mine for a moment before darting away. “Got your text.”

I grip my coffee mug tighter, anchoring myself. “Yeah, I thought we should talk about what happened at dinner.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry if I ruined our night out. I just… I wasn’t expecting to run into them.”

“It wasn’t about running into them,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended. “It was about how you completely shut down afterward. You’ve been distant ever since, more than usual.”

“More than usual?” His tone sharpens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means, Jeremy.” The words come out in a rush now, months of bottled emotions spilling over. “You’re never really here anymore. Even when you’re home, you’re somewhere else. The bathroom, the bedroom, anywhere but with me.”

He leans against the counter, creating more distance between us. “I told you, work’s been?—”

“Stop.” The word comes out harder than I meant it to. “Please, just… stop with the work excuse. I know your job is demanding, but this is different. You’re different.”

Silence fills the kitchen. Outside, a neighbor’s dog barks, the sound muffled and far away. Jeremy stares at the floor, his jaw clenched tight.

“What do you want me to say, Alexis?”

The use of my full name stings. He only calls me Alexis when he’s angry or pulling away. “I want you to tell me the truth. What’s really going on?”

He pushes away from the counter, pacing the small space of our kitchen. “Nothing’s going on. I’m just tired. Tired of the pressure, tired of feeling like I’m not enough, tired of—” He pauses, as if catching himself.

“Tired of what?” I press, my heart hammering. “Tired of us?”

The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with possibility. Jeremy’s shoulders slump, and when he finally looks at me, I see something in his eyes that breaks my heart–resignation.

“Maybe,” he whispers. “Maybe I am.”

The coffee mug slips from my grasp, shattering against the tile floor. Dark liquid spreads across the white ceramic, like blood from a wound. Neither of us moves to clean it up.

“How long?” My voice sounds strange to my own ears, distant and hollow. “How long have you felt this way?”

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