The next morning, I decide to head into town for a quick visit to the studio. I don't own the place, but I am responsible for keeping it stocked. Steve hired me almost two years ago to start refurbishing furniture to sell in his shop. I make a decent cut from the items that are sold, and I get to continue doing the one thing I love most.

I adore turning rundown, neglected pieces of wood into works of art. My main focus is unique, vintage-style tables and chairs, but occasionally I'll build or restore old clocks, shelves, cabinets, picture frames, and other small home decorative items. I can honestly say, it's the most fun I've had on the job in all my life.

Stepping through the door, I take a relaxing inhale, the small bell overhead jingling with the movement. Making my way towards the back of the store, I relish in the scent of oak and Pinesol. There's something captivating about the smell of freshly stained wood—like smelling gasoline or markers—it smells so strangely good that you wanna just breathe it all in, but you stop yourself because you can physically feel it eating away your brain cells. Might explain why Jessalyn is a bit loopier than the average person.

Jessalyn is the store manager, and she happens to be manning the counter today. A smile lights up her face when she sees me approaching and she stops organizing the money drawer and comes out to greet me.

"Merc!" She throws her arms around me as she says my name. She's a loud person anyway, but when she's speaking directly into my ear it nearly explodes my brain.

"Geez, woman!" I say, pulling away to jab a finger in my ear. "I think you blew an eardrum."

She chuckles at my dramatics and slaps me playfully on the shoulder.

"So," I start to say, making a small circle as I eye the store, "How are things going?"

"Been pretty slow," she admits. "But, we did have a pretty big sale a couple of days ago. People are loving those new chandeliers you fixed up. You might consider doing a few more of those."

"I'll keep that in mind," I say with a smile as I browse the store. I take note of the fact that the grandfather clocks haven't done too well. A few chairs have sold and a crib, but not much else.

Unfortunately, even though it's not my business, the fact that things aren't selling affects me pretty severely. Seth and I rely on my income to buy the groceries. There's no doubt that this month will be a little tight. We might have to resort to rice and noodle dishes until sales go up—which, considering my small meal repertoire, won't really be that big of a change.

I spend a few more minutes chatting with Jessalyn before my body starts demanding that I fill it with sustenance. I find a small cafe down the street and order a peppermint tea and a roast beef sandwich. I gaze out the window while I eat alone, my mind wandering to Seth with an annoying persistence. I just want to go one day without hurting or thinking about him. I want to eat in peace. But my overactive mind won't allow it.

Once finished, I head to the gym. I used to make fun of my old roommate every time she went running in college, and now, here I am attacking the water like a freakin' shark. I can't deny the fact that it makes me feel good about myself. It's just a shame that nobody else even knows that I've got a nearly flat stomach but me.

I return home, feeling significantly less motivated than when I left. The house is quiet and lonely, which seems to suck the desire to be productive right out of my system. I flop down on the couch, telling myself I'll just rest for a couple of minutes, but the next time I wake up, it's dark.

I guess this is what I get for not sleeping at night. I begin to sit up but freeze when I realize there's a blanket draped over my body. I don't recall doing that.

I'm up in a heartbeat, searching the house for any sign of the man responsible. To think that Seth had seen me sleeping there and felt the need to do something about his cold wife brings a smile to my face. And yet, the house remains quiet. If he was here before, he isn't now. Maybe I'd dragged the blanket from the back of the couch in my sleep. Maybe I'm the one responsible for keeping me warm—just as I have been for the past four months.

It's time for dinner, but I'm not hungry enough to cook for just myself. So, instead, I fill the tub with steaming water and sink into the heated mist of bubbly delight. My muscles relish in the feel of warmth penetrating the tension, and I let myself relax for a few blissful moments.

Until I hear the front door open.

I don't really give it a thought until I hear Seth's voice. It's not so much the fact that he's talking to someone. It's the someone he's talking to that bothers me. I pull myself up and lean over the tub, hoping that getting a little closer to the door will help me hear better. I hear some muffled laughs and then things go quiet for a moment until I hear an unmistakably feminine voice mention that she needs to head home.

"Alright," Seth replies. "Have a good night, Tracy."

I can feel nausea scorching its way up the back of my throat. Is he rubbing it in? I ask if he's cheating and just to make a mockery of me, he brings her home? To my house. I'm furious in seconds. And then another thought snuggles into my mind; the thought that maybe he brought her here to give me peace of mind.

I shake the idea away, quickly pulling my water-logged body from the bathtub. I wrap my towel around me, securing it into place by tucking the end into my cleavage. I want to yell and scream, but I have nothing to say. I'm literally stunned into silence.

After letting the water drain, I swing the door open and slip quietly into my room. My mind is buzzing. There has to be something I can do. I can't just sit back and let Seth destroy our marriage. I won't allow it.

I slip one of Seth's large t-shirts over my head. It comes to mid-thigh, and that's good enough for me. There's no one here that I need to be modest for. I don't bother brushing my blonde hair. My fingers will have to do. I run them through the strands, eyeing my tresses in the mirror. When Seth and I first met, my hair was a bit shorter. Now it hangs down the middle of my back without a single curl in sight. I've wondered a few times if my appearance has pushed Seth away. I'm not the girl he remembers. Maybe if I tried to convert to my old appearance, he'd want me.

I nearly laugh at the thought. I'm not a complete moron. I know that can't be the only reason he can't stand me. Really, a man doesn't leave his wife because she grew out her hair. Besides, I'm happy to admit to myself that I look way better now than I did then. Maybe Seth just can't see that. He's so blinded by his desire to escape that he can't even see me as a woman anymore. But he's wrong. I'm definitely a woman. I'm a woman in all the right places, and I'm not ashamed to admit that.

A knock on my door has every atom in my body halting in place. I'm pretty sure my heart even holds its breath for a second as it tries to figure out what exactly just happened. Nobody has knocked on my door in months. Seth doesn't dare venture into what he's labeled as my domain. Unsure of what could be the cause for the interruption, I briefly wonder if it's some kind of medical emergency that has him seeking me out.

"Yes?" I call out, turning away from the mirror to face the door.

It creaks open slowly and I see Seth peering through the crack. When his eyes settle on mine, he pushes the door the remaining distance until it's standing wide open.

"What's wrong?" I ask, not able to hide the worry from my voice.

"Why would you think something's wrong?"

The question throws me off a bit and the look of complete bafflement on his face doesn't go unnoticed. Does he not realize how uncommon this is? He takes a step back when I just continue to stare at him with my eyes narrowed and brows tilted down in question.

"I just—you never come to our room anymore," I brave saying.

"Oh." If I'm not mistaken, I'd say that he nearly looks dejected. He starts to leave and I can't fathom at all what just happened. Did I say something wrong? Adrenaline spikes through me in a wave of alarm and I take a step towards him. The movement snags his attention and he stops, his hand on the doorknob.

"You don't have to go," I say, motioning for him to come in. "It's as much your room as it is mine."

"Right." The single word leaves his mouth with mock amusement like he finds my statement to be ridiculous. He hovers in the doorway, not making any move to enter any further. I want to snatch up his hand and drag him into our room, throw myself in his arms and then carefully tempt him toward our bed, but I'm positive that would not go well. "I just came in to ask what the dinner plans were," he says.

I'm so startled by his words that I stutter a couple of times before I find the right thing to say. "Well, we can do anything you want." I know I'm treading on dangerous ground, but I'm so desperate to gain his attention that I'm willing to make a fool of myself. And that's why the next question escapes my lips. "We could go out somewhere?"

He looks at me for several heart-pounding moments. His green eyes are like fire, burning holes and sweat stains into my clothing. He's analyzing me, trying to figure out what the catch is. He can't fathom why I'd want to spend time with him. His thoughts are so incredibly clear to me at this moment that I can almost read them directly from his head.

"What if we just order in?" he counters, and my shoulders sag in defeat.

Of course he wouldn't want to be seen in public with me or have to suffer through agonizing conversation with me. I want more than anything to argue with him, but instead, I just nod. It's what he wants, and I'm all for giving him what he wants.

We get pizza, and then like every other night, we plop ourselves in front of the tv to eat in silence. I've finished off my fourth piece and have just settled back to relax when Seth stands to grab another slice. I take this moment as a perfect opportunity and slyly move a bit closer to where he had been sitting.

I see the hesitation in his movements when he returns. It's like he doesn't want to draw attention to the fact that he's noticed the change. Furrowing his brows, he shrugs off my attempt at getting closer to him and sits down.

Progress.

I could almost start dancing around the house at this point, and it's sad that something so minuscule could feel so gargantuan. So, I test the waters just a little further and swing my legs up on the couch so that they're crossed in front of me. My knee brushes his thigh and I can feel him tense.

I don't move. He doesn't move. We stay frozen like this for a good ten minutes before he leans over the armrest of the couch to set his plate on the floor. When he sits back up straight, I watch from my peripheral vision as he crosses his arms, and sinks his body away from me as far as possible without being obvious.

I'm almost having fun with the game. I just want to see how far I can push him before he breaks. I need to know what his limits are so that I can prod and massage them until they weaken.

A commercial starts and I take that as my opportunity to change positions. I end up scooting to the other end of the couch and then stretch my legs out so my feet are brushing his leg. This time he doesn't try to hide his reaction. Instead, he glances down, glaring at the offending foot. I ignore the heated stare he offers my extremity and, instead, shift it slightly so it rubs against his knee.

"Give it a rest, Mercy," he suddenly says, his words weary, yet forceful.

I hit the limit. Or, I guess, my toe did.

Darn toe.

My entire body has tightened into a firm ball of ice. I have no idea how to react to his words. Everything inside of me is dying to explode out. I want to tell him I love him. I want to beg him to give me a chance. I want him to want me. But I don't say a word.

Instead, I pull my knees up to my chest and turn to face the tv. I'm not watching it anymore. I don't care who lives or dies on the screen, because right now I'm the one dying. My heart is beating so fast that I know it's going to give out at any minute.

I'm humiliated. I should be able to touch my husband. I should be able to show him how much I love him. And yet, I can barely speak three words to the man without shriveling up in fear or being shot down by his lack of care.

Before the movie ends, I excuse myself and head back to my room. I'd rather leave by choice than have Seth kick me out with a lame excuse of needing sleep. So now I'm sitting alone on our bed, rewinding through our entire marriage and trying to piece together the moment things went wrong. But I can find nothing. We were perfect one day and shattered the next. Somehow I missed the small cracks that led to our demise.

I'm sure of one thing though. I will do everything I can to win his heart. I will not go down without a fight, and Seth Vans better prepare himself for that because I'm a freakin' dragon when it comes to winning. He might just have to learn that the hard way.