Still.

1

I didn't want to eat today. Despite the fact that he took the time out of his own lunch break to make enough food for me to have, I didn't want to eat. I told him I wasn't hungry yet, that I would heat it back up later and he sighed, but nodded. He knew I was likely lying. And I was. But when I went into the kitchen, hours after he had gone back to work, and saw the two tacos delicately wrapped and filled with everything he knows I love inside, I couldn't disappoint him again. So I turned on the oven and stuck them in. I couldn't deal with the look in his eyes if he came home and saw them still sitting on the stovetop, untouched. So I forced myself to eat them. I forced myself to feel a little bit okay.

Every time I think I'm better, every time I'm ready to turn a new page—to try again—I have days like this where even eating takes so much energy that I just simply lack.

I push the empty plate to the side of the table as I feel my jaw begin to clench and the pressure behind my eyes build. I will the tears back. I won't let this overcome me today. I force myself to be okay because I can't take the pain of the sadness and concern in his eyes when he looks at me anymore. Like he's waiting for me to break—to fall apart. Again.

We don't talk anymore. We haven't brought up her name in what feels like years. I know he's slowly drifting from me, slowly losing me to the void. Just like I'm slowly losing myself. I hate that we're falling apart rather than together. I hate that I don't have the energy to even ask how his day was. That I don't have the energy to even tell him I love him anymore.

We fell. We fell out of love with one another almost as hard as we fell into it. But I don't blame him. I blame myself. I blame myself for everything. I'm just waiting for the moment that he realizes it too. I'm waiting for the moment he wakes up and decides to leave. I wouldn't even be able to be angry with him. I don't want to be with myself anymore either.

I look up to the front door as it is slowly pushed open. Rigley runs to him, a toy in his mouth and his tail wagging excitedly. He steps through the threshold and gives me a gentle smile as he hangs his car keys on the hook and begins to shrug off his jacket. He leans down and gives Rigley a loving scratch on the top of his head.

"Did you eat?" Is the first thing he asks to me as he walks toward me and begins to unbutton his shirt. He takes a seat next to me on the couch and pushes a few strands of my tangled, wavy brown hair behind my ear and gently kisses my forehead.

I soak him in. I welcome the faint smell of cigar smoke that his client likely smoked as they discussed their plans for the future. I welcome the calm look in his blue eyes as he stares back at me. I welcome the warm feeling in my chest as I glance at the single dark strand of hair that hangs down on to his forehead, the rest remaining perfectly in place.

"I did. Thank you," I say softly and watch as he lets out a quiet, relieved sigh.

"Good," he says and nods before standing back up to continue to change out of his work clothes. "That's really good, Lor."

***

I run my hands through the damp strands of my hair as I stand naked in front of the full length mirror of our master bathroom. My hand trails across the scar just below my stomach and I feel the familiar sting of salty tears in my eyes.

A knock falls on the door and I jump and suck in a breath, my eyes darting to the panel of wood between us.

"Lor?" His voice is muffled through the door as he speaks, but I can still hear the worry that coats it. "Lorelei, are you alright? You've been in there for awhile."

"Yea-Yeah," I choke out. I quickly look back to the mirror and mask any evidence of tears before I grab the shirt bundled up on the vanity and throw it over my head.

"Okay," he says softly. Then a little louder, "Well, do you mind if I come in, hon? I still need to brush my teeth."

I take one more glance in the mirror at my now clothed body. I'm wearing Finley's baseball shirt. It stops just passed my hips. "Sure."

A moment passes before the knob slowly turns and he pushes the door open. He takes me in with his eyes, taking over my mostly bare body. A small smile twitches at his lips. His hair is much messier now, having nearly completely dried from his shower. It's sticking up in some places and falling down into his eyes.

"I haven't seen you in my Astros shirt in awhile," he says and pulls his lip between his teeth. "It looks good on you."

I feel my jaw clench, but I force it to relax. This is what I wanted. But it all feels so foreign now. "Thanks."

He walks passed me to the second sink, his sink, and pulls open the medicine cabinet, retrieving his tooth brush. I watch him closely as he washes away the day from his teeth and then his face. He glances over at me a few times, causing a blush to rise in my cheeks.

"Everything okay?" He asks as he pulls the towel in his hands down his face and his blue eyes look right into my green ones.

I nod and break the eye contact, looking to my hands folded in front of me on the vanity. "I'm fine."

He steps forward and gently tugs me to him so that my cheek is pressed firmly against his hard, bare chest. I breathe him in. I breathe in his familiar scent and say a quiet thanks to him for ridding his body of that awful cigar smell.

"I love you."

He says it in a whisper. He says it so quietly I'm not even sure he wanted me to hear it, so I don't reply. I never reply unless I feel it's necessary. I still love him. I do. But I feel like at this point we are lying to ourselves. I feel like at this point it's not the same love it was when we said I do. I feel like it hasn't been ever since—

"Lorelei?" He says softly.

I pull away from his chest and look up at him. "Yeah?"

He swallows down the nervousness building in his throat and I watch the battle rage behind his eyes. "Do you—" he swallows again, closing his eyes this time. "Do you want to try again?"

His eyes open again and hope fills them as dread fills my entire being. I break away from him and head toward our bed. He lets out a defeated sigh and follows close behind me. I climb in to bed and he climbs in after me, pulling the blankets up over the both of us. I fight back the tears begging me to let them escape as I click off the light on my nightstand and lay down. Rigley jumps up onto the bed and curls himself up at the foot.

For a moment, we're both silent and there is a foot gap between us as I lay on my side facing the wall. But then he's scooting closer to me and wrapping his arms tightly around me. He nuzzles his face into my neck and I can feel the faint stubble of his chin prick my skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispers to me. "I just—you seemed like you were doing better. I thought—I just wanted—"

"I know," I say quietly. And we leave it at that.

We allow the silence to drown out the raging war of our hearts until we're both fast asleep and no longer thinking about the baby girl that we never got to bring home.

No longer thinking about our baby girl.

Cassiopeia Raine.