The Boy I Loved or The Man I Married

The coffee maker sputtered to life at 6:40 a.m., its familiar gurgle the only sound in our kitchen.

I stood by the counter, watching the dark liquid drip into the pot, my hands wrapped around my own empty mug for warmth. Mark sat at the table behind me, his thumb scrolling across his phone screen—email after email, I assumed. The blue light from his device cast shadows across his face.

We hadn't said good morning. We hadn't said anything at all.

I cracked two eggs into the pan, the sizzle filling the silence between us.

The smell of butter and frying eggs should have felt comforting, domestic even, but instead it felt like I was cooking for a stranger. I plated the eggs carefully, the yolks still soft the way he used to like them, and carried them to the table.

"I'll be home late," Mark said, standing abruptly as I set the plate down. "Don't cook my dinner."

He leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead—a reflex, not a kiss. His hand squeezed my shoulder, a gesture that might have looked affectionate to anyone watching. But I felt the distance in it, the way you'd pat a coworker on the back.

"Okay," I said.

He walked past the eggs I'd made, reached into the basket on the counter, and grabbed a protein bar instead. The door clicked shut behind him, and I stood there, staring at the untouched plate. The eggs were already starting to congeal at the edges.

I sat down and ate them myself, mechanically, tasting nothing.

—

The drive to school was gray and cold, the sky pressing down like a weight. My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, my knuckles white. I'd just merged onto the main road when my phone rang through the car's speakers.

Michelle.

I considered not answering. But that would only make things worse.

"Hi, Michelle," I said, forcing brightness into my voice.

"Claire, good, I caught you." Her tone was brisk, efficient. "I need you to pick up some things for me this afternoon. I'm hosting the neighbors this weekend, and I'm swamped. Just a few groceries—I'll text you the list."

"I—" I hesitated, searching for the right words. "It's been a tough week. Midterms just finished, and I have a lot of grading to catch up on—"

"Claire." She cut me off, her voice sharpening. "You're wasting time on things that don't matter. The school will survive without you hovering over every little assignment. Your family needs you."

My throat tightened. "I understand, but—"

"Mark is working himself to the bone right now. Surely you're not expecting him to take care of household things on top of everything else?" She paused, and I heard her exhale, a sound heavy with disappointment. "Mark told me you've been overwhelmed lately. Maybe you should try a little harder."

The words landed like stones in my chest.

"You know, Claire, in our family we don't let things fall apart