I just didn’t realize one day, I’d need more.
He flinches, his voice rising. “So now I’m not enough because I work too much? Is that what you’re saying? I’m trying to give you and the girls a good life! Do you think it’s easy balancing all this?”
“I'm not saying that,” I mutter. “I know you work hard. But what’s the point if half the damn time I feel like I’m living with a stranger?”
“Maybe I shut you out because I don’t know how to be enough for you,” he says, his expression softening. “I never once said work was more important than you, Jenna. Or our family.”
He rarely says my name. It makes my heart ache. “I know you love me. But day after day, buried under work, bills, chores, there’s no space left for connection. I’d love to feel more like a team. And desired. And seen. And sexy. Then I look at our girls, this life we’ve built, and I’m torn between gratitude and this ache inside me, begging for more.”
Jacob studies me with narrowed eyes. “Why are you telling me all of this now? What aren’t you saying?”
An image pops into my mind. My arms wrapped tight around Dylan’s abs on the back of his bike, but I push it away. He has nothing to do with this conversation.
“I don’t know,” I admit, the words heavy in my chest. “Maybe it’s my past and never being allowed to speak up for myself. Always feeling afraid that I’d drive people away if I said the wrong thing.”
My voice wavers. “You know I’ve never been good at sharing my feelings. I let them build and build until they explode,” I say, trying to steady myself. “But isn’t it ironic? Words have always been my love language, my way of feeling seen. Yet I’ve never felt safe enough to share them with anyone.” I look down. “Or you.”
Jacob rubs his hand over his face. “You married me knowing who I am. I’m not the guy who cries at movies, writes poems, or holds your hand in the park. That’s just not me. Honestly, sometimes, it’s like you don’t even see the things I do for you.”
The moment suddenly feels heavy with years of unresolved pain that can’t be fixed in one night. And his parents’ awful divorce flashes in my mind. His dad was the macho type. Emotionally absent, unloving, and cold. And Jacob learned survival from him. I’d always hoped I could break through those walls, show him something different. But maybe I was naive to think I could make him feel safe enough to open up.
“I do, and I appreciate you,” I say gently. “But sometimes, it feels like we’re living two separate lives. Like you don’t even like the person I’ve become.”
Jacob reaches for my hand. “Of course I love who you are. So…what do you suggest we do?”
I blink, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. “I saidlike, not love. I think we need counseling. I’ve been asking for years. Maybe someone else can help us communicate better and reconnect.”
His face twists into a mix of resistance and frustration. “You know how I feel about therapy. No one can change who I am or fix us. My parents tried for years. It was shouting matches, blame and resentment. And in the end? It made things worse,then it tore them apart.” He exhales sharply. “I don’t want that for us. But I want to try. Maybe we can spend more time together—go on dates again.”
I give a small, tired smile. “I know I married a man with walls around his big heart. And for a while, I loved trying to break through them. But I can’t keep living this way.”
I stand up and lean in to kiss him, hoping to ease the tension.
“I’ll think about therapy,” he murmurs.
That’s progress, I guess.
“Oh, how could I forget? Izzy gave us something fun to try,” I lie, although technically she would. I grab my purse off the counter and hand him the bag of edible gummies. “Might help us relax. What do you say?”
He flashes that handsome smirk, his eyes meeting mine with a quiet trust that tugs at my heartstrings. For a moment, the tension between us feels a little lighter. And hopefully, in a few more minutes, a little higher too.
That night, Jacob and I lie next to each other in our king-size bed. Kids sleeping? Check. Gummies taken? Check. Nothing’s happening? Unfortunately… check.
“Do you feel anything?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“It’s too soon, honey. Give it time,” Jacob says, getting up to lock our bedroom door. “About what you said earlier…”
I interrupt quickly, switching to a ridiculous British, possibly Irish accent.
“Don’t talk about it! The only thing you should be doing is taking off your pants.Now.”
Jacob chuckles, stepping closer. “I was going to say… I want to be more open with you. But you have to do the same with me.”
I know he’s right. If we keep shutting each other out, if we never push past the silence, what does that do to us? To our marriage? I think about how lonely it is to sit in the same room as someone you love, but feel like you’re worlds apart.
I say nothing, the gummy haze starting to swirl in my head. “Ready to make menotscream so I don’t wake up the girls?” I giggle, feeling something funny stir inside.
Jacob’s seriousness melts away, replaced by a playful grin. He crawls toward me on the bed, growling softly like a predator on the prowl. Then—
