“Good night, girls,” Jacob whispers, kissing them one last time before stepping out.
For the next few minutes, I lie next to Ava, thinking about how far I’ve drifted from the girl I once was—before marriage, before Ryan. The girl who climbed trees, and chased stray cats and sheep on a farm. The girl who dreamed of something more. Somewhere along the way, I traded those dreams for stability… and Jacob.
I let out a long, deep breath, and tuck Ava’s hippo under her arm. “Give her sweet dreams tonight,” I whisper.
I close the door quietly, and head to the bathroom to shower and brush my teeth. When I step into our bedroom, Jacob’s already in bed, propped up against the headboard watching golf. Typical. I drop my towel to the floor, standing there buck naked for a beat, then slip into my black silk nightgown.
Jacob doesn’t even blink.
I slide into bed beside him. “So,” I start, testing the waters, “I’ve been thinking a lot about us moving to the country. Somewhere quieter, with space for the girls to roam and have a couple of animals like I had growing up.”
He chuckles, barely looking up. “You? The city girl who swore she’d never leave Nashville, wants the country now? What happened to all your other big ideas—starting a business, going back to school, learning Spanish and moving to Spain? You’re always trying to escape something.”
The words sting. “It’s not escaping. It’s…” I hesitate, not sure I fully understand what it is. “It’s dreaming. Wanting something… more.”
He sighs loudly and sets his phone down. “You have everything you need. You’re just restless. Life isn’t some endless playground where you can chase impulsive ideas whenever you get bored. We have responsibilities.”
His tone has a sharpness reserved only for me. Why do people do that? Treat the ones they love—the ones that matter most—more shitty than the grocery store clerk? He’s patient, more kind with strangers. But with me, it’s always sharp edges.
“Restless?” The word cuts deep. It’s true. Yes, I wanted the city life—the house, the job, the stability. And he gave it to me. But maybe it’s not enough anymore.
Jacob checks his phone again before shaking his head. “Jenna, remember when you wanted to get a business degree?I paid for tuition, rearranged my schedule for the kids, and you quit before the second semester. Or how about skiing? You dragged me to the slopes, we spent hundreds on gear, and you got bored after a few weeks. And the endless gym memberships that went to waste year after year? Every time you get excited about something, it fizzles out just as quickly.”
I flinch. His words sound like a checklist of all my failures.
“Yeah, I’ve started things I didn’t finish,” I say, crossing my arms. “But lately, there’s this itch I can’t ignore. Isn’t it normal to want more? To dream of something else?”
His jaw tenses. “We don’t need to reinvent our entire life because you feel… whatever it is you feel. I can’t keep chasing your next big idea. I’m exhausted.”
There was a time when Jacob would’ve listened, even if he didn’t understand. Now, every idea or dream is like an inconvenience. And I can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t know me anymore. I’m not sure I know him either. Hell, I don’t even know myself anymore.
We see everything differently—life, parenting, even something as simple as what movie to watch. “You see the world only in black and white.” My voice strains with frustration. "But life isn’t like that. Maybe I need to explore, make mistakes, figure out where I fit in. Can’t you open your mind to that without automatically shutting me down?”
He rolls his eyes, tired of the same argument. “Every time you get bored, you try to mess things up. Let’s not Jenna Jinx this, okay? I don’t live in a dream world, and I’m only trying to help.”
The way he spits out my name like it’s a brand-new curse word in the dictionary stings. He’s right. I’m wrong. I always am. And the wall between us grows higher. What’s the point of talking when it always ends the same?
I press my lips together, swallowing the familiar taste of disappointment, and sink deeper under the covers. “Maybe you’re right. I did say I never wanted to move again when we first met.”
“Let’s not talk about this,” he murmurs, his fingers grazing my waist, then below my breast. His touch is familiar, comforting like a language only the two of us know. “You know I love you, right?”
Yes, and I know exactly what you want.
I nod, the anger still simmering beneath my skin, but I’m eager to take my frustrations out into the one thing we’ve always been good at in this marriage. In this quiet space, we’ve always connected—no misunderstandings, no tension, no distance—only us meeting each other’s physical needs. And if I’m lucky, for fifteen fleeting minutes, I can act like everything is fine. That I’m fine. That this is enough. And at least he knows how to make my body feel pretty damn good.
His lips find that spot on my neck—the one that always makes me weak. My body betrays me, responding to him, even though my mind screams no. I dig my nails into his shoulders, rolling onto my back. His mouth moves lower—over my chest, my stomach—getting straight to business. There’s no flutter in my heart anymore. But there’s comfort in how he knows exactly how to make my body surrender.
“Yes, Jacob, I know,” I gasp as his tongue teases in slow circles like he’s got all night down there.Jackass.
I drag my fingers through his hair, tugging harder than I probably should. “You always know how I like it,” I whisper, arching into him, giving in.
He looks up with that cocky smile flashing—the one that used to make me melt. “That’s it. Ride my face until you come.”
I don’t answer. Instead, I push his head back down. His tongue and fingers slide inside with ruthless precision, buildingme up until the frustration dissolves into pleasure. I turn my face to the side, muffling my moans into my pillow. Anything to stay quiet. His speed picks up, adding another finger, gripping my ass as his tongue moves faster and deeper. And then it happens. That laugh. The same uncontrollable laugh that escapes me every time. A release of dopamine, oxytocin, and maybe all my bottled-up emotions finally breaking free. Jacob used to hate it. Thought I was laughing at him. Thought it was weird. But now he understands it's just my normal body’s reaction… and he gets off on it.
“Every damn time.” He smirks, wiping his smug face. Before I can catch my breath, he rolls me onto my stomach, lifting my hips.
“My turn,” he mutters, thrusting into me from behind. His strokes are rough, fast, almost punishing—not unkind, but not gentle either. I claw at the sheets, feeling his confidence, like he’s the only man who can control my body. As if this somehow makes up for everything he can’t give me outside the bedroom.
