“Who’s the parent, though? You or Lily?” His words cut deep. But it’s not just about the cat. It never is.
“Lately, it feels like we’re always on different pages. Like you always want more than I—never mind.” He stops, unable to finish his sentence.
Then, it goes quiet.
After twenty years, you’d think silence would feel comfortable, like a worn-in bra. Only it isn’t. It sits heavy on my chest, sometimes making it hard to breathe. I feel like I’ve faded into the background. A piece of old furniture—useful when needed, invisible the rest of the time.
From the outside, things look like a dream. The house, the kids, the love story everyone seems to envy. And I love him, I do. I’m grateful for our life. But there’s still this ache, this emptiness I can’t seem to fill no matter how hard I try.
Jacob takes a seat on the bar stool at the island, his gaze glued to his laptop already out as he types out an email. The screen displays endless rows of numbers and legal jargon I can’t even begin to decipher. He’s always working—his corporate law clients come first. There’s always another contract, another financial analysis, another deadline. Even when he’s home, he’s miles away.
I watch him, waiting for a moment when he looks up, asks about my day, or says something that doesn’t involve spreadsheets. It never happens.
Forget about Jenna from twenty years ago. Where’s the Jacob I met twenty years ago?
He still has the same perfect haircut, not a strand out of place. The same neatly sculpted facial hair along his jawline—thekind I like better than his clean-shaven look. And he still stays fit, squeezing in time at the gym whenever he gets a break. But back then, he used to leave work early for lunch dates and spend time with me. Made me feel like I was a part of his world. His brooding demeanor felt mysterious. Sexy, even. Now it’s just… lonely without someone to share your thoughts with.
He finally glances up and catches my gaze. “Everything okay?”
I force a nod. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”
Everything is always fine. It’s the lie we both tell ourselves. He gives me a forced smile back before looking down at his screen again. Frustration simmers, deepening the distance that’s been growing for years. When did we stop trying? I’m tired of merely co-existing, discussing kids and finances without ever going deeper.
So, I focus on the girls and try to be a good mother. Even when getting them to set the table feels like herding wild animals. Jacob thinks I baby them too much, so I’ve been trying to give them more responsibility. But Ava is as clumsy as I am. Halfway to the table, she drops a plate that nearly hits Wobbles. Meanwhile, Lily’s complaining because she can’t find her Taylor Swift cup, and Wobbles is trying to leap onto the chair like she’s already part of the family.
Between overcooking my pasta and Lily’s meltdown over her missing cup, I steal a glance at Izzy’s texts about her latest sexcapades. Living vicariously through her is starting to feel like a fun hobby, while I’m drowning in marinara sauce and laundry.
Izzy:Soooo…I may have stolen a cowboy hat, went streaking, got arrested… and asked the officer if I could lick him. Don’t worry, I gave the hat back. ;)
I let out a laugh. Just another day in Izzy’s chaotic life. Meanwhile, Jacob’s attached to his work emails like we’re background noise. I shoot him my sharpestcan-you-notlook,and finally, he puts down his laptop and asks the girls about their day. A minor win for the day.
Lily lights up as she talks about scoring three goals in gym class, even though her friend Jenny is mad about it. And Ava can’t stop laughing as she tells a story about her friend Booger Bobby. Apparently, he stomped on a bully’s foot during recess for annoying all her friends. The drama is already in full swing, and it’s only been two weeks back to school. Jacob listens, nodding and laughing, asking questions that make them giggle and beam.
For a moment, it’s enough.
Almost.
But as soon as the girls’ chatter dies down, he picks up his phone, scrolling endlessly, forgetting there’s one other person in the room. Thanks for asking, Jacob.My day was fantastic, I think, stabbing my spaghetti with my fork. My appetite disappears, but I keep smiling and talk to the girls the rest of the meal as if he’s not here.
Dinner wraps up, and the girls race off to play with Wobbles. I’m left here staring at the mess—a reflection of how I feel inside. I grab a cloth and start wiping, my hands moving on autopilot. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean up,” I mutter to myself, knowing Jacob won’t offer.
He hesitates in the doorway.
“I’m sorry,” he finally mumbles. “Work’s been a bit overwhelming. We’ll talk later, okay?” His apology is like a line from a script we’ve rehearsed a thousand times. He steps forward, leaning in for a brief kiss—more routine than any tenderness. “The cat can stay in the garage for a few weeks until we find it a new home.”
“Thanks,” I reply, but my voice is hollow. A swirl of emotions spin around inside me—frustration, sadness, confusion. And something else. Something deeper. An aching void I can’t quitename. “I’m sorry, too.” I tuck the apology away, and I bury my feelings. Lately, I’m really good at it. So is Jacob.
Does that make us perfect for each other, or two ticking time bombs waiting to explode?
After the kitten settles into her temporary home, Jacob and I take turns tucking the girls into bed like we always do. Their sleepy hugs and smiles offer a moment of calm. Ava curls up to me, clutching her stuffed hippo, while Jacob sits with Lily in her bed. His voice is low and animated as he tells a spooky story about a zombie who turns kids into toilet paper if they don’t eat their vegetables. The girls burst out in giggles.
He leans in and kisses Lily, then Ava. “You’re my two favorite girls in the whole wide world.”
“Three girls—don’t forget Mommy,” Lily mumbles, half asleep but insistent.
“Right, I think we can squeeze her in too, even though she burnt dinnertwicethis week,” he teases, gently ruffling her hair.
The girls laugh, clinging to him like he’s their hero. Warmth stirs inside me for a moment, quickly replaced by that same ache. How can he be their hero, yet feel like a stranger to me? I wish he’d show me a sliver of the same love and affection. I can’t remember the last time he said something to me that made me feel loved and cared about. But at least they have a father who loves them fiercely. The kind of love I never knew from my own father.
