I wanted to believe that this was just a phase… that it was nothing more than a bump in the road we’d figure out together. “Hey,” I said one night, sliding a laptop across the table. “There’s a position here that’s remote. It pays well and it’s in your field.”
“Yeah, I saw that,” he said, not even looking up from his phone. “They want too much experience. Besides, I don’t want to work from home forever.”
“You said that last week,” I said gently. “It’s been three months.”
And the excuses only grew from there. “That one’s beneath me.” “I’ll keep looking, Callie. Don’t nag.” “I’ll apply tomorrow.” But tomorrow didn’t come. While he waited for something perfect, I picked up more shifts. I paid the bills, packed the lunches, attended soccer games, folded laundry at midnight, and left for work before the sun rose.
Some mornings, I’d catch a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror. My skin looked dull. My hair would have been in the same bun for two days. It wasn’t because I didn’t care… it was because I had nothing left to give. And instead of gratitude, Ryan gave me sarcasm.
“You used to wear real clothes, Callie,” he said once, watching me iron a pair of lilac scrubs. “Do you even remember what real dresses look like?” Another time, he leaned against the doorframe while I changed. “Skipped the gym again?” he smirked. “You used to have so much more energy and a perfect waist.”
What stung the most wasn’t that he noticed the changes — it was that he didn’t seem to remember why they happened. He didn’t remember the woman who used to tuck notes into his lunch or rub his shoulder while he worked late. I kept telling myself that Ryan was just lost. And that he didn’t really mean those words. But even patience has a pulse. And mine was starting to fade.
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