As he picked up the car keys from the console, the metallic jingle echoed through the quiet hallway like a soft prelude to something unknown. We walked toward the door, the floor cool beneath my bare feet, the air tinged with the faint scent of lavender from the diffuser we'd forgotten to turn off. I turned to him and said, "Let's skip the highway parlor. We'll go to the one in the neighborhood."
He paused, looked at me with a sleepy smirk, and shook his head. "Nah. We should give the baby what it demands - or I'll have to face the wrath of the mother later." His voice was teasing, laced with that familiar sarcasm that always managed to disarm me. I rolled my eyes and gave him a playful smack on the arm. He chuckled. And just like that, he pulled a smile out of me - effortlessly, like he always did, even in the gravest of moments.
We stepped into the night. The air was crisp, the kind that brushes against your skin like silk and carries the scent of damp earth and distant jasmine. The roads were mostly empty, the city asleep, save for the occasional flicker of a streetlamp or the distant hum of a passing vehicle. We rolled the windows down, letting the breeze rush in, tousling my hair and cooling the warmth of my skin. The soft strains of a romantic song played through the speakers, wrapping around us like a memory.
We talked - lightly at first. I told him how stressed I was about the presentation, how the numbers weren't adding up, how I felt like I was failing at everything. He listened, nodding, his hand resting gently on the gearstick, his eyes occasionally flicking toward me with quiet concern.
Then he spoke - about work, about the pressure, the politics, the fatigue. There was something in his voice, though - something brittle. A hesitation in his pauses, a carefulness in his tone. As if he was measuring every word, afraid that too much honesty might tip me over the edge.
And that's when it hit me.
I had been so consumed - by my body, my hormones, my deadlines, my cravings - that I hadn't really seen him. I hadn't asked how he was doing. I hadn't noticed the weight he was carrying. Guilt crept in, slow and sharp, curling around my chest. I turned my face toward the open window, letting the wind sting my eyes, pretending it was just the breeze and not the tears threatening to fall. I'll do better, I promised silently. I'll be more patient. I'll stop making everything about me.
And then - everything shattered.