Page 8 of October
"I'm sorry," he murmured into my hair. His voice was hoarse, like he hadn't spoken in hours. "I hate when you're mad at me. You're barely ever mad... so when you are, I—I don't know what to say. I'm not good with words, but I'm trying."
I stayed still. Let him speak. Let him explain himself in that soft, tired tone that used to melt me and now only made something ache deeper.
"I'm working on this new project," he continued, his forehead pressing lightly against mine. "Dad made me head of it, and... God, he's breathing down my neck. He expects so much—more than I know how to give sometimes. I'm overwhelmed, October. Exhausted. And I know that's not fair to you."
He exhaled, hand finding mine under the blanket. I didn't move.
"But I need you. You're my peace. When everything's crashing, when I'm drowning in numbers and expectations and that constant pressure—youare the one thing that makes me feel like I'm still okay."
There was a pause. He shifted, trying to see my face, but I kept looking at the ceiling.
"You're a good wife," he said quietly. "A good mother. Don't let your thoughts tell you otherwise. I am sorry and I love you...Please."
I closed my eyes. His words hung between us like a thread, fragile and fraying
"Sure, whatever," I whispered. "Goodnight, Thomas."
I turned away from him, and he didn't try to pull me closer.
The following morning was a blur of movement—the usual chaos of getting everyone ready: breakfast half-eaten, mismatched socks, backpacks slung over small shoulders. But beneath the routine, there was something heavier in the air. A silence that clung to the walls like smoke after a fire. Lingering. Suffocating. I moved through it like I was made of glass. Still functioning, still moving—but fragile. And hollow.
I didn't say much to Thomas. Just the bare minimum.
"Pass the cereal."
"Can you hand me her shoes?"
"We're running late."
My voice was calm. Even. But it wasn't warm.
He noticed. Of course he did. I saw it in the way his eyes lingered on me just a second too long. The way his brow pulled ever so slightly, like he was trying to piece together the difference. I've always been soft with him. Gentle. Eager to smooth things over, to reach for his hand before he ever had to ask.
But not today.
Today, I didn't touch him.
Today, I didn't smile.
He could feel it, me pulling away, inch by inch, but he didn't say a word. Maybe he didn't know how. Maybe he never did. Maybe he was waiting for me to cave, to offer peace like I always have, even when I'm the one bleeding. The thing is, I used to think silence was a punishment. But today, it was armor.
There was a numbness settling over me, a cold clarity that felt foreign and familiar all at once. Like standing outside mybody and watching a version of myself I didn't quite recognize anymore. The version who loved him so fiercely it burned. Who bent and folded and softened until she was barely herself.
Now? Now, I was just... quiet because I had nothing left to give. Not to him, and he felt it.
Only Alice and Lola broke through the tension, giggling and humming like nothing was wrong. Like children always do, untouched by the weight adults carry in silence. Jimmy didn't say much either, just busied himself with his bag and homework, staying in his own bubble. I hated it. Hated how I could already feel the split in the air, like our family had fractured and no one wanted to name it.
For once, we left before Thomas. I gathered the girls, called out for Jimmy, and we stepped out the door while he stood in the hallway, looking like he wanted to say something but couldn't quite find the words.
I didn't give him the chance. We just left.
I spent the morning with Lola bundled against my chest, her tiny hand clinging to my shirt like I was the only world she trusted. We wandered through the park, just the two of us, under a soft sky that didn't match the storm inside me. I watched her eyes flutter at the sunlight slipping through trees, her chubby legs kicking out happily as we passed by dogs and joggers. I bought her a little hat at the market, something pink with floppy ears, just to see her smile. I needed that smile more than I could admit.
We walked aimlessly, the stroller wheels crunching along the path, my mind spinning faster than they ever could. I was trying to outrun the silence in my house. The way Jimmy barely lookedat me anymore. The way Alice asked about her father like he was a guest we were waiting on. The way I kept shrinking every time Thomas apologized, only to vanish again.
But something was different this time. Maybe it was Jimmy's words last night, echoing in every quiet corner of me. Or maybe it was the way Lola's little laugh filled the air like hope. I wasn't going to be the woman who just endured anymore. I was tired of being understanding. Tired of making excuses. Tired of telling myself it wasn't that bad. It was that bad.
Itis.
