Thirty Days Of September

chapter 4: The Lonely Home

Atasha tried to adapt, convincing herself that things would improve over time, that Aaron just needed space to adjust to their new life together. But every day felt lonelier than the last, and the weight of the silence in their home became suffocating. Aaron's presence was there in the physical sense, but emotionally, he was always miles away—locked behind his phone, out with his friends, or worse, with Candice.

Candice, the woman who still held a place in Aaron's heart, was a shadow Atasha couldn't escape. Though Aaron had said that his ties with Candice were severed when they married, it was clear to Atasha that Candice was far from gone. She saw the late-night texts, the subtle smirks when Aaron's phone buzzed, and the stolen moments when he thought she wasn't looking.

One evening, Atasha mustered up the courage to confront him. She had spent hours debating whether she should say anything, torn between fear of pushing him further away and the pain of his growing emotional distance. But as she stood in the doorway of their dimly lit bedroom, watching him casually scroll through his phone, she knew she couldn't stay silent anymore.

"Aaron," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "I need to talk to you about Candice."

Aaron didn't even look up, his fingers still swiping across the screen. "What about her?" His tone was indifferent, as though her name meant nothing.

Atasha swallowed hard. "I... I see how often you're in contact with her. I thought you said things between you two were over."

He finally glanced up, annoyance flickering in his eyes. "We're just friends. I told you before—there's nothing going on."

"But Aaron," she pressed, her voice cracking, "you spend more time talking to her than you do with me. I see the messages, the way you smile when you get them. It hurts."

Aaron let out an exasperated sigh and set his phone down on the bed. "You're being dramatic, Atasha. You knew what you were getting into when you married me. I have friends—Candice is one of them. It doesn't mean anything."

Atasha felt the sting of his words as tears welled up in her eyes. "But I'm your wife, Aaron. Shouldn't I be the one you confide in, the one you want to spend time with? It feels like I'm competing with her for your attention."

He stood up abruptly, brushing past her as he headed for the door. "You're making a big deal out of nothing. I don't have time for this right now. I'm meeting the guys."

Atasha stood frozen in the doorway, her heart aching as the sound of the front door slammed shut behind him. She sank onto the bed, her head in her hands, wondering how their marriage had gone so wrong so quickly. The pain of his neglect and the constant humiliation of knowing Candice was still a part of his life was overwhelming. She had tried so hard to make their home a sanctuary, but instead, it felt like a prison—a lonely place where love had no room to grow.

Days turned into weeks, and the isolation only deepened. Atasha threw herself into the household tasks, hoping that her efforts would somehow change things. She cooked his favorite meals, kept the house spotless, and tried to maintain a cheerful demeanor whenever Aaron was around. But it was all in vain. He remained distant, consumed by his social life and his phone, while she became a ghost in her own home.

The few times they did speak, their conversations were brief and shallow, with Aaron either brushing off her attempts at connection or outright ignoring her. And though she never voiced it aloud again, Atasha knew deep down that Candice was still a central figure in Aaron's world. It was humiliating to be so aware of the other woman's presence, and even worse to feel powerless to change it.

One evening, after a particularly long day of cleaning and cooking, Atasha decided to take a walk to clear her head. The quiet streets of their neighborhood were a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in her mind. As she walked, she thought about her parents, her friends, and the life she had envisioned when she agreed to marry Aaron. It was supposed to be filled with joy, partnership, and love—not this empty, one-sided effort that left her feeling invisible.