Seth doesn't speak to me the entire ride home. I know that this should have me worried because quiet always means trouble, but for some reason, I'm relieved. I wouldn't know what to say anyway. Just something about Seth deciding our future for us has me rattled to the point of self-destruction.

I remain frozen in my seat, not daring to glance anywhere other than the window. I fear that any movement will remind him that I'm in the car with him, and I wish to remain invisible for the time being. I'm not ready for a lecture. Not like he'd give me one anyway, but I'm not in the mood for tense conversation. While he might not come right out and say what the problem is, I'm still able to read some of the issues going on with him, and I'm not in the mood to feel humiliated. Just one glance from him, that's all it would take, and I would know that he was disappointed in me.

I hate feeling like a failure, and tonight I failed big time. This only means one thing: I'm going to have to do some major damage control. I've already caused enough problems in our marriage by doing nothing at all, and tonight I did everything but nothing.

Metaphorically speaking, this evening went something like this: I saw a turd and then purposely stepped in it. Every word that left my mouth tonight was like another poop-covered step, and all I did was trudge around spreading the nasty all over the place. My parents did not need to see that. Now there's crap everywhere and I have no idea how to clean it up. I'll actually be surprised if Seth doesn't throw the divorce papers in my face the second we step through the front doors.

I see our house approaching, and I've got my seatbelt off and my hand hovering over the door handle before Seth can even pull to a stop. I fish my keys from my pocket as I hurry up the path to the door. Without a backward glance, I unlock the door and slip through.

I hear Seth enter just moments after me, but it's what I don't hear that has me stopping in my pursuit of my room. The house is quiet. I don't hear his keys hit the dining room table. I don't hear him plop onto the couch. I don't hear the TV flick on. There's nothing but silence.

Turning slowly, I wonder if he ever really entered the house at all. Maybe I just thought I heard the door open and close again. I take a few steps until I'm out of the hall, and the moment I peer out into the entryway, my heart lurches.

He doesn't see me, and for that I'm grateful, but I can definitely see him. Unfortunately for Seth, I'm seeing a side that he probably never wished for me to see. It reminds me of the moment I spied him sitting in his car the night he couldn't sleep. He looks pained—physically ill, even. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

He's leaned up against the door, car keys dangling from limp fingers. His eyes are closed, but I can see the tension woven into the lines etched into his brows. He brings a hand up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. I hear him half sigh, half groan, and I'm struggling to figure out what has him so worked up. Did I say something to upset him tonight? I had been expecting irritation. Even I can admit that my behavior tonight was painfully annoying... but he doesn't look annoyed.

He looks... hurt.

Seeing him like this makes me hurt. I want to walk up to him and slide myself into that perfect space between his arm and his side—that space that was designed just for me. No other woman could mold to him as perfectly as I do. I have no doubt about that. We fit together like a nut on a bolt.

I want to ask him what's wrong, but I physically can't make the words leave my mouth. I know I'm being a coward, but I'm just not sure if I can handle the truth yet. I'm like a bad paint job and I can feel myself bubbling and cracking with the burdens of time. If Seth and I continue on like this, I know I'll eventually peel apart until there's nothing beautiful left.

I hear him clear his throat, and I turn to scurry back to my room just as he opens his eyes. I'd hate to make things even worse by getting caught snooping on this intimate moment, so I'm thrilled that I make it to the safety of my room without stepping on any creaky floorboards.

I fire up my laptop and get to work. I've got an idea, and I'm hoping it'll be just what he needs to get his mind off things for a while. It'll be worth a shot anyway.

———

The next morning starts off like any other morning. I slip a hole-covered shirt on and trudge my way out to my workshop. I've got a ginger tea in one hand and a store-bought blueberry muffin in the other. I struggle to turn the doorknob to my shop and eventually have to resort to shoving the muffin into my mouth to free one hand.

My cheeks are about ready to blow. They're bulging to their limit and my jaw is nearly screaming at me for forcing such a task on it. Another minute of painful chewing follows before I'm able to swallow. I moan in relief, sipping down a mouthful of tea to wash away any leftovers hiding in my teeth.

I'm just getting down to business when I hear someone hollering my name. I set down my chisel and stand upright, making my way to the entrance. I don't even have to get a look at the guy's face to know that it's Steve; his wacky hair gives him away.

"Seriously, Steve," I say, as he pushes through the doorway and into my studio. "You need to run back to Russell Brand's house and give him back his hair."

He freezes, one hand still on the doorknob, and then he looks up at me with a tired sigh. "It's really that bad?"

I laugh at the sheer exhaustion etched onto his face. He takes his hair very seriously. And though I've warned him time and time again that hair is not his specialty, he continues to try.

"What? Does it need more hairspray or something?" he asks, shutting the door behind him and taking a few steps in my direction.

I had taken a sip of my ginger tea, and nearly end up spewing it all over my workshop at his ridiculous question.

"No, Steve," I say, patting him on the back in a gesture I hope comes off as sympathetic. "You need to dig a very large hole, and then you need to dump all your hair products inside of it. That stuff is destroying you." I take a moment to scan my eyes over his hair, a finger to my chin as I ponder the best look. "Actually—and this is a big deal for me because I'm so not a fan of guys with ponytails—but I really think you could pull it off."

He gapes at me for a moment, clearly appalled by my suggestion, and then his mouth clamps shut and a smile blooms to life.

"Really?" he asks, suddenly pleased by the image of himself with scruffy cheeks and a slicked-back ponytail.

Or, at least, that's how I assume he must be imaging himself right now. Unfortunately for him, he couldn't grow a beard even if he lathered his face in hair-growth cream and prayed for a miracle. So, the possibility of a scruffy-faced, ponytail-donning stud is not an option for this poor baby-faced bloke.

"Okay, stop daydreaming," I say, turning away from the man with hope floating in his eyes, and back to my project. "I've got work to do."

I feel him near, peering over my shoulder to get a better look at the table. He's somewhat quiet, but there's something about his breathing that's penetrating my nerves and driving me mad.

"Steve," I say in gentle warning, my eyes scanning the wood planks in front of me. "What'd you stop by for?" I continue fitting pieces together, sanding and chiseling when necessary to make sure of a perfect fit.

"Oh." He steps back out of my bubble, and I can hear him pacing the floor behind me. "I just wanted to see your progress. Adam can't stop praising your work, so I wanted a look for myself."

"And?" I say, nudging him to expound.

"And, he was right." He walks around the edge of the table to stand opposite me. "This is exceptional—as always." I glance up just long enough to catch the smile gracing his lips and then tilt my head back down to resume my work.

Seconds tick by, and I know Steve is still nearby, watching and observing my techniques. He's always been curious about my work. So curious that I'm positive I can feel him soaking in knowledge as I pluck tools from my work table as I measure, sand, and fit pieces together.

"You hungry?" he suddenly asks, and I glance up, slightly startled by the interruption.

It takes me a moment to realize that, yes, I'm completely famished. Without much coaxing from Steve, he persuades me to join him for lunch. Apparently, he's got a possible new client and needs to discuss several details with me. Whatever this next project is, it's going to be massive.

We've just sat down at a particular burger joint when my phone dings from my bag. I do some digging before finding my phone hiding in the deepest, darkest depths of my purse. Pulling it out, I'm nearly shocked out of my skin when I see a message from Seth.

I'm grabbing lunch from Ragers today. Want me to grab you something?

I instantly regret joining Steve for lunch. Even if it is business, I suddenly feel guilty. To think I'd just questioned Seth on his fidelity the other day just because he had a client dinner with a woman, and now here I am doing the same thing. Sometimes I disgust myself. I guess I just figured that it was Steve, and Steve is about as harmless as a dead fly.

Refusing to make things worse by being dishonest, I quickly let Seth know where I'm at and why. I'd hate to make things worse by lying about something as innocent as lunch. I try to keep the text simple and innocent, but when I don't hear back from Seth, I wonder if I'm just screwed everything up. I seem to have a tendency to do that lately.

Steve drops me off at home an hour later, and I realize that I no longer have the desire to work. I need to talk to someone, and right now, the best option would be my bestie. Dialing up Shon's number, I leave a voicemail insisting that she come over as soon as she gets off work.

I don't hear back from her for another hour, and by then I've successfully molded myself to the couch. I wouldn't move even if I could. My eyes are glued to the TV screen as I watch Leonardo Dicaprio's survival skills come to life as he guts a horse and then crawls inside of its empty carcass in order to stay alive in the raging cold.

"This is brutal," I whisper to myself, absolutely engrossed in the movie.

Barely sparing a glance, I respond to Shon and then return to my task of successfully being as lazy as possible. She arrives around eight, and I swear I haven't even moved an eyelid since she last texted. I've just been absorbing one movie after the next. Thankfully, the one that's currently playing isn't holding my attention, and I quickly shut it off when Shon comes barreling into the house.

She doesn't knock or even offer a 'hi'. She just plops down into the couch next to me with a weary sigh.

"Food," she mutters. Her lips barely move and I find myself fascinated by this fact. Instead of responding, I just wait for her to speak again so I can make sure the sound is actually coming from her mouth. "Get. Me. Food." Each word comes out weak and exaggerated.

"Dude, Shon," I say, eyeing her closely, "you could be a ventriloquist!" I snap my gaze upwards to meet her tired eyes. She's watching me through small slits but doesn't seem as excited by my observation as I am. "Seriously," I say. "That's a gift."

Without another word, I hurry into the kitchen to throw a sandwich together for her. When I hear the front door open, I freeze my pursuits. Craning my neck around, I glance behind me to see Seth entering the front door.

"Seth!" I hear Shon exclaim, and it's like watching a dead woman come back to life.

I chuckle softly to myself, shaking my head as I begin to work on her supper again. But then I hear his response.

"Shon." He's clearly pleased by her presence. "It's been ages. How are you?"

From there, they launch into excited conversation, quickly catching each other up on their lives. I feel a small tweak of something in my chest, but push it away the moment it tries to invade my thoughts. I will not let this get me down. Shon's my friend, and Seth's my husband. I want them to get along. I force a smile to my lips, folding the sandwich together and placing it on a plate for Shonice.

"Here you go," I say, making my way into the living room and presenting the black beauty with her dinner. "Hey." I nod in Seth's direction, hoping he won't disregard me.

"Hi." His eyes flicker to mine briefly, and I'm not entirely sure what I see in his gaze. Whatever it is, it's not good. "How was your day?"

I'm nearly caught off guard by his inquiry. He actually wants to know about my day?

Forcing myself not to make a big deal about it, I just shrug and mutter, "It was okay."

Nothing else is said between Seth and me, but I watch in mild fascination as he and Shon continue their conversation. He excuses himself a moment later, explaining that he needs to get ready for a meeting. Apparently, he's got another late client dinner tonight—yeah, right.

He returns several minutes later, cleanly shaven and smelling like a Calvin Klein model. He looks simply delicious. So it's a good thing that Shon's here to keep me grounded. Who knows, with his scent tantalizing the air, I could very possibly do something stupid right now—like tell him I love him, or smother him in kisses—and we wouldn't want that.

"Good to see you," he says, adjusting his tie and grabbing his briefcase from the floor beside the front door.

"You too," Shon says, politely standing and giving Seth a friendly hug.

"We need to not wait so long next time," he tells her, his eyes flickering to mine for a millisecond and I'm stunned as to what that look could mean.

Was he trying to make me jealous? Was he hoping to get some kind of reaction from me? What's he trying to achieve here? Instead of caving into a ball of sappy tears like I want to, I just smile and wave him goodbye.

"See you tonight?" I ask, hopeful.

He just nods in response and leaves.

It's not until Shon turns around, a curiously pained look on her face, that something hits me directly under my left breast. I bring a hand up to massage my jaw. It's my attempt at keeping any obvious reactions from breaking through onto my face. I don't want her to see my teeth clenching back tears.

Because it's in this moment that I realized something achingly painful...

My husband just showed Shon more affection in twenty minutes, than he's shown me in eight months.