Patience Heart

The Distance Between Us

The days seemed to blur together as the wedding date loomed closer. The wedding planning process, something I had always imagined as a shared experience, had become something different—something lonelier. Adam was handling almost everything. The flowers, the catering, even the guest list. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate his efforts. He wanted to make it perfect for me, even though the scale was small. But the distance between us felt more profound with each passing day.

I missed him.

Our communication had dwindled to a series of text messages and the occasional phone call. He'd send updates—photos of flowers for my approval, catering menus to choose from—but it wasn't the same. I longed for his presence, his touch, his laugh. The warmth of his body next to mine. I hadn't expected this, hadn't anticipated that I'd crave him so much after everything. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, amplifying everything. But I couldn't shake the growing ache in my chest.

 Adam: "How do you feel about white roses with a touch of lavender? It seems elegant but still simple enough for the ceremony."

I stared at the message, imagining him at the florist, carefully considering every detail. I could almost see him holding up the bouquet, tilting his head in that thoughtful way he always did. It brought a small smile to my lips, but the pang of longing quickly followed.

Me: "They're beautiful. Let's go with that. Thank you for taking care of everything, Adam."

There were times I felt guilty for wanting more of him, knowing how busy he was. Adam was juggling multiple projects at work, barely finding time to sleep, let alone spend time with me. But still, I couldn't help but feel the void. After that night together—the passion, the connection—I thought we'd be closer, not further apart.

I sat in our apartment, surrounded by the silence that seemed to mock me. The only sounds were the occasional hum of the fridge and the distant traffic outside. I picked up my phone, scrolling through our old messages, trying to feel connected to him in some way.

Adam: "Catering options: traditional Indonesian or fusion? What would you prefer, love?"

I hesitated before replying. The idea of choosing the food for our wedding should have been exciting, but without him here, it felt empty.

Me: "Fusion sounds nice. It's a good mix of both worlds, just like us, right?"

I waited for his reply, hoping for something more, something that would make me feel less alone. But all I received was a simple thumbs-up emoji. It wasn't his fault—he was trying. I knew that. But the absence of his physical presence was taking its toll on me.

Nights were the hardest. I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying that night over and over in my mind. The way he had touched me, kissed me, made me feel like everything would be okay. But now, with the wedding approaching, I felt more uncertain than ever. Was this the right decision? Could we really build a life together when we seemed to be living separate lives already?

I turned over, hugging his pillow to my chest. It still smelled like him—a mix of his cologne and something uniquely Adam. It brought a sense of comfort, but also a wave of sadness. I missed him. More than I ever thought I would.

Maybe tomorrow would be different. Maybe tomorrow, he would find a moment to just be with me, without the wedding, without work, just us.

The next morning, I woke up to the familiar buzz of my phone. Another message from Adam.

Adam: "Finalized the guest list. Keeping it small as we discussed. Just close friends and family. Kristin and Maya will be there. Hope you're okay with it all."

I sighed, reading his words. It wasn't that I wasn't okay with it. It was everything else—the fact that he was doing all of this alone. I wanted to be involved, to be there with him for every decision. But here I was, feeling like a bystander in my own wedding.

Me: "Thank you for handling everything. I trust your choices, Adam. I just... I miss you."

I hesitated before sending the message, wondering if I should say it. But it was the truth, and I couldn't keep it bottled up anymore.

His reply came quickly.

Adam: "I miss you too, Viola. I'm sorry I haven't been around much. Just a little longer, okay? Once this is all over, we'll have time. I promise."

I wanted to believe him, to trust that things would settle down after the wedding. But the loneliness gnawed at me. The logical part of my mind knew that he was doing everything he could. Yet, the emotional part of me—the part that longed for him—couldn't help but feel neglected.

I decided to distract myself with the preparations that were left on my end. I focused on choosing the dress, the rings, even the small details like the table settings. It helped, in a way, to be involved in some aspect of it all. But even as I went through the motions, my thoughts kept drifting back to Adam.

Adam: "Picked out some options for the rings. Sending you the photos now. Let me know what you think."

The photos popped up on my screen, each ring more beautiful than the last. I admired the craftsmanship, the thought he had put into choosing them. But what I really wanted was to be there with him, to make these decisions together, in person.

Me: "They're all beautiful, Adam. You have great taste. Let's go with the second one—it feels right."

I could almost picture him smiling at that, nodding to himself as he made a note of my choice. But it wasn't the same as seeing it in real life, sharing that moment with him.

As the days passed, the wedding preparations continued at a rapid pace. I found myself growing more anxious, not just about the event itself, but about the distance that seemed to be growing between us. We were getting married, yet I felt like I was losing him.

One night, after another long day of planning, I sat alone in the living room, staring at the bouquet of white roses and lavender that Adam had sent earlier. They were beautiful, just as I had imagined. But they were a reminder of his absence, of the space that had formed between us.

I picked up my phone, scrolling through our recent messages. They were filled with wedding details—flowers, catering, rings—but nothing personal. Nothing that spoke to the connection we had shared that night. I wanted more than just logistics. I wanted him.

Adam: "I know you're busy, and I appreciate everything you're doing. But I just... I miss us. I miss you."

This time, his reply took longer.

Adam: "I miss you too, Viola. I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but I'm doing all of this for us. Once the wedding is over, things will be different. I promise."

I wanted to believe him, to trust that his words would hold true. But the uncertainty lingered. The fear that this distance would remain, even after we were married. I needed more than just promises. I needed him to show me that we were still connected, still in this together.

And as the wedding day drew closer, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had to change. Before it was too late.