𝑈𝑔ℎℎ. 𝑀𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡𝑠. I got out of bed, feeling the heavy weight of material around my body. 𝐼𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎 𝑤𝑒𝑑𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠? I thought to myself as I looked through the mirror. I rubbed my face only for my eyes to stumble on...
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Wake up. Work. Sleep. It used to be our routine, hers and mine-woven together by morning coffee, shared glances, and a quiet companionship. But now, her routine has taken on a different rhythm, one that includes me less and Iris more.
She spends almost every moment with Iris, reading her stories, helping her with little projects, taking her out to explore the world. I watch them sometimes, Sophia lost in Iris's laughter, her eyes softening in a way I haven't seen for months. She's wrapped up in the wonder of Iris's life, giving her the kind of love and attention that feels endless, patient-qualities I miss from her with me.
Our check-ups continue, but it's clear her heart is pouring into Iris, healing her, maybe even healing herself. There are moments I want to interrupt, to reclaim a piece of the connection we once had, but I hold back.
She keeps her distance like she's afraid that any closeness might crack the wall she's built. There's no laughter over breakfast, no late-night whispers, only the ticking of the clock filling the silence between us. Sometimes, she'll leave for her check-ups with only Iris, a quick visit to the doctor that's become our only break from the silence. We sit in waiting rooms, barely exchanging a glance, and it stings every time.
I've tried to pull her back, tried to bring a sliver of light into this closed-off world she's created around herself, but she keeps slipping further away, as if I'm part of a life she's already left behind.
In the rare moments we're together, I catch the sadness in her eyes, see the weight she carries, but she never lets me in. Instead, she's wrapped herself in a shield of silence, moving through her routine like she's just trying to get through each day, one hollow step at a time.
The nights are the hardest. She lies beside me, but it's like we're worlds apart. I reach for her, sometimes, my hand hovering over her shoulder, hoping she'll give me some sign that she's still here with me. But she doesn't, and I'm left staring at the ceiling, my mind racing, wondering what I did wrong, where I lost her.
I think about the moments when we were still us, back when she looked at me like I was the only one who mattered. The memory burns, a reminder of what's slipping through my fingers.
At work, it's just as bad. I'm distracted, unfocused, and everyone can see it. Xion and Stacy exchange glances, and I know they want to ask, want to tell me to take a break, but they don't. Maybe they're afraid I'll snap, or maybe they know there's nothing they can say that'll fix it.
But today, as I watch her standing by the window, lost in her thoughts, I realize I can't keep going like this. I need to break through this wall between us, no matter what it takes. Because losing her would destroy me. And I'm not ready to give up on us, not yet.
Tonight, Iris is at a sleepover at Xion's, a little princess slumber party with Tia. So we had the house to ourselves.
The silence of the house feels heavier than usual tonight. Iris is at a sleepover with Tia, giving us a rare, quiet evening alone. I'm not sure if this emptiness between us will feel better or worse without the buffer of Iris's laughter filling the rooms, but I know one thing-I can't keep pretending I'm fine with this distance.
