like the bubble suddenly burst, and we’re back into a reality where we shouldn't be together.
He confirms my thoughts when he says, “I have work to do. I just came to change and tell you that I might not be back until Tuesday. We have a big case.”
I stare at him for a moment before turning around and going to the dining room to clean up the uneaten food. It was prepared with love for a couple who was supposed to be happily celebrating their life together. Then I wonder, what happened to us?
Chapter Twelve
Leyla
Why did we get married?
It seemed like the right decision at the time. No, that’s a terrible answer. Immaturity, fear of being alone, endorphins…I find plenty of excuses but not a concrete answer.
Did we marry because we don’t know how to be happy and trusted the other one to do the job?
These are some of the multiple questions and theories I have.
Some days I feel we had a two-year party, and he left me behind cleaning up the mess. Others, I call our relationship a charade. My expectations included love, a family, and forever. I assume Pierce wanted to be happy.
When did I stop making him happy?
Was he ever happy with me?
Was that my job, to keep us together and not disturb the balance or disappoint him?
Why am I blaming myself for whatever happened between us?
What are we supposed to do now?
Our real feelings, aspirations, and everything we hope for our future are out in the open. Maybe I shouldn’t be saying we. It seems like he has no expectations. We’re back to that arrangement we had at the beginning. You have your life, I have mine, let’s meet at night. But it was never like that. We always found the time to be with each other. We loved without reserve. We cherished each other.
That was then. This is now.
This new reality is eating me alive. Dealing with every thought, feeling, and meltdown going on inside my head by myself is hard. The one person I’d trust to hold me during this awful time is Pierce, but he’s part of the problem.
I'm so angry with him. I’m sad because I haven’t felt this lost in so long. I’m furious about us and what will never be.
We’re not even fighting with each other. Pierce isn’t acknowledging me or whatever happened between us that night. How ironic that it happened on the day of our anniversary.
Why am I not surprised about the turn of events? When things look too good to be true, it’s not real.
Our relationship developed too fast. It aligned perfectly. I heard the right words. He made the right moves and just blinded me with that one thing I’ve wanted since my mom died. Love.
A love that wasn’t even real.
God, I was so naïve.
I can’t fathom how my life will be without him, but should I even try to fix us? How can I fix something that never existed?
When I sit down to write what makes me mad, to try to figure out why I’m so miserable, the conclusion is pretty obvious. He doesn’t care enough to work this out. He wrote us off, and he’s not even telling me about it.
I’m not dismissing everything that happened between us, but the beginning of us is what troubles me the most. I’m so upset at him for everything, and the baby…well, that was such a nasty Bryant move—he’s not so different from his family. It was misleading, dishonest, and pure betrayal.
He knew I was trying to get pregnant. He could’ve just told me, “Don’t fool yourself. It’s never going to happen.”
Why not tell me about his expectations before we married?
I’m furious at myself because I don’t trust people easily. Why did I trust him?
Marriage is supposed to be forever. Or until death do us part—not literally, like my parents.
Our relationship is hard to catalogue. Was it all fake?
It doesn’t matter. All I want is to hurt him, which is probably immature, but how can he continue living as if nothing happened? A category five tornado destroyed our lives, and he’s behaving as if it’s business as usual.
A part of me wants to make him as miserable as I am.
Two weeks pass without us speaking to each other. We went from casual roommates to strangers after our confrontation. At night, I wonder where he’s staying and if he ever loved me. Maybe he didn’t, and the infatuation is over. That’s why he avoids coming to the house.