Jack parked the car in the garage. After turning off the engine, he sat for a moment before getting out, a quiet heaviness settling over him.
His mind raced. It hadn’t been long ago that he used to hurry home, eager to share the day with Wendy. The smallest details mattered then—the quiet validation in her responses, the way she listened to the decisions he had made throughout the day. At dinner they talked about everything, each evening unfolding in stories of how their day had been.
Jack walked slowly into the house and placed his keys on the shelf. The house was neat, almost carefully arranged, the furnishings polished and precise. Wendy sat on the couch, her eyes fixed on the television. Jack wondered if she was really watching, or if it was simply one of her ways of avoiding eye contact—and the familiar question about how his day had been.
Dropping his bag on the sofa, Jack asked Wendy what she was watching and how the kids were. Before waiting for much of an answer, he moved toward the shower. Maybe he was avoiding the conversation too.
As the shower warmed, Jack’s mind drifted back to their college days—how a computer science major and an English literature major had somehow grown close. Neither understood much about the other’s world, yet they made the effort. Beowulf never made much sense to Jack, just as assembly language remained a mystery to Wendy. Still, they shared it all with each other. Back then, not sharing felt almost like a small betrayal. Listening was their way of offering validation.
The inevitable followed soon after Jack secured his first job. They married. Two children arrived. A bigger house came next—three-car garage, a swimming pool, summer vacations carefully planned, weekends spent with friends and family. The years moved quickly. The kids grew faster than either of them expected. Now both were nearly ready for college.
Over time, the conversations grew shorter. Phone calls became rare. Text messages were brief and precise—“Wake me up tomorrow at five. Early start.” “Out of milk. Pick some up.” Small instructions passed between them, nothing more.
Hearing his name, Jack returned to the present. He turned off the shower and paused. Tim was calling him.
It was a mundane question about school. Jack answered and walked into the living room. Wendy was still watching television. She glanced at him briefly.
“Dinner is ready,” she said.
Jack hesitated. “I need to finish some work. Go ahead and eat. Just keep my plate in the microwave—I’ll warm it up later.”
Wendy didn’t respond. Her eyes remained fixed on the television, as if the script of the evening was already known to her.
Jack went to his study and became absorbed in his work. Time slipped by unnoticed. It was close to midnight when he finally looked up and realized how late it was—and that he needed to wake early the next morning.
Though surrounded by alarms on every gadget he owned, Jack still relied on Wendy to wake him. He picked up his phone and sent a message.
Wake me up tomorrow at five.
He warmed his food, ate quietly, and went to bed.
Morning came, and when Jack woke it was already 6:30.
“Jeez,” he muttered, annoyed as he sat up. Why hadn’t Wendy woken him?
He looked around and realized she had already left for her morning gym routine.
Jack picked up his phone. A message from Wendy was waiting.
It’s 5 a.m. Get up.
Jack hurried through his morning routine and left for work. The day soon pulled him into its usual demands, and the annoyance of the morning slowly faded from his mind.
On the drive home, Jack imagined confronting Wendy. He rehearsed what he might say, even guessing how she might respond.
But when he entered the house, Wendy was on the phone. Irritated, Jack dropped his bag and went straight to the shower. The warm water calmed him, though a faint trace of anger remained.
When he came out, he walked to the dinner table. Wendy was already there. Before he could speak, she did.
“My brother’s turning forty next week,” she said. “I was thinking of visiting.”
Jack frowned. “I don’t have time.”
“Yes, I know,” Wendy replied quietly. “The kids and I will go.”
They ate in silence. Later, Jack went to his study with a book, while Wendy returned to her television show.
In the study, Jack could not focus on the book. His mind kept racing, and one word returned again and again—time.
The next morning was the weekend. After his morning routine, Jack walked into the kitchen. Wendy stood at the counter, focused on cutting vegetables while breakfast slowly came together.
Jack pulled up a chair and sat beside her.
Surprised, Wendy looked up. “What are you doing?”
Jack smiled.
“Giving you time.”
Wendy paused, the knife resting quietly on the cutting board.