The day extends on in a blur of meetings, calls, and vast reports. I sit in the extensive front room of our penthouse, the quietness weighty in the air.
Alexander hasn’t spoken a lot today, and when he does, everything,without a ddoubtt, revolves around business. His psyche is consumed by the domain he’s endeavoured to work in while I sit on the outskirts, a mere observer of a life I’m no longer sure I’m a part of.
“Leila, did you get the numbers from the New York team?” Alexander asks, not looking up from his phone as he paces the room, his face etched in
concentration.
I look up, alarmed by his abrupt inquiry. I’ve developed used to his distraction with work, but the distance between us feels more articulated today. “Yes, I have them,” I express, standing from the lounge chair to recover the files. I hand them over to him, feeling the cold air between us deepen.
He barely acknowledges the gesture, scanning the papers quickly, then tossing them aside without a second thought. “We need to move faster on this. The market won’t wait.”
I gesture, gnawing my lip, the words I need to express staying in my throat. Is this actually all I’m to him now? Simply a tool in his business?
He turns to leave without a word, lost in the whirlwind of his own considerations, and I’m left remaining there, wondering if we’ve ever really been connected at all.
Later that evening, I sit at the dinner table, the sound of my fork clinking against the plate the only noise in the room. The vast space between us is filled
with silence.
Alexander is so absorbed in his phone that he barely notices I haven’t touched my food.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asks, his voice flat, as if he’s merely asking about the weather.
“I’m not hungry, no,” I reply quietly, my fingers tracing the edge of my glass. I want to ask him about his day, about his thoughts, but the words feel foreign. He hasn’t opened up to me in what feels like weeks.
He finally puts his phone down, his eyes meeting mine for the first time in hours. “We need to stay focused. The business is at a critical point, and I don’t have time for distractions.”
His words hit harder than I anticipated. The easygoing dismissal of my feelings, my presence – it stings. I swallow the rising frustration in my chest.
“Obviously,” I say, driving a grin. “I get it.”
But the more I try to suppress it, the angrier I feel. How can he be so cold? How can he not see how much I’m trying to hold this together?
Later that night, as I lie in bed, the darkness presses down on me. Alexander is already asleep, his breathing even and steady. But I can’t find peace. I lie there wide awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering where the man I married went.
The tension between us feels suffocating. All these weeks of silence, of emotional distance–it’s like we’re two strangers sharing the same space. I thought that by now, I would have made some headway, that he would start to let me in. But nothing has changed.
I roll over to face him, my eyes tracing his profile in the dim light. His features are so calm, so distant. He’s shut me out completely.
“I don’t have the foggiest idea who you are any longer,” I murmur, the words getting out before I can stop them.
Briefly, I assume I envisioned it
–
until I see his jaw fix, his body harden.
“Leila,” he murmurs in a low voice, barely audible, “Please. Not now.”
His words are a quiet plea, but there’s something cold in them that cuts deeper than I expected. He’s not just pushing me away; he’s shutting me down.
I want to say something, to fight back against the growing sense of abandonment I feel. But the words are lost somewhere in the depths of my frustration and hurt.
The next morning, I made myself busy. There’s a meeting to join in, messages to send, task to finish. I attempt to zero in on something, anything, to occupy myself from the biting throb in my chest.
But, in any event, when I’m in a discussion with one of the colleagues, I can’t shake the inclination that Alexander is still barely unattainable. His presence is there, but he’s not actually with me. He hasn’t been for some time.
At lunch, we sit across from each other at the conference table. He’s reading through a contract, eyes fixed on the paper, while I can’t help but glance at him, wishing for even a moment of connection.
“Are we done with the meeting?“After a while I ask my voice tentative.
He doesn’t gaze upward. “Not yet.”
I nibble my lip, feeling a swell of feeling ascend in my chest. The quiet between us is so clearly, I’m certain it’s stifling him as well. But then, he doesn’t recognize it.
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Chapter 18
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“Alexander,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. “Why are you so distant? What happened to us?”
He puts the contract down, his face unreadable. “Nothing happened. This is just how it is.”
Achill settles in the pit of my stomach. “This is how it is?” I repeat. “Is that really all you have to say?”
He leans back in his chair, his gaze finally meeting mine. But there’s nothing in his eyes–nothing that tells me he’s even remotely aware of the hurt I’m feeling.
“I don’t have time for anything else, Leila. This is the reality. You knew what you were signing up for.”
The words hit me harder than I expected. They’re a slap in the face, cold and final.
“I knew what I was signing up for,” I echo, more to myself than to him. The anger that’s been simmering inside me finally breaks free.
“And what exactly was I signing up for, Alexander? A marriage of convenience? A partnership of indifference?”
His jaw fixes, yet he doesn’t answer. I see the glint of something – dissatisfaction, perhaps – before he returns to gazing at the papers before him.
Briefly, I feel like the world is surrounding me. The tension, the depression, the profound depletion – everything comes crashing down. I need to shout, to yell at him, to let him know the amount he’s stinging me. Be that as it may, I don’t.
All things being equal, I stand up, my heart beating in my chest. “I’m finished,” I say discreetly, my voice scarcely over a murmur.
As I go to leave, I hear him call out to me. “Leila.”
In any case, I don’t think back. I can’t. The heaviness of the words I need to say is excessively.
Furthermore, as I get out of the room, I realize this is a defining moment. We can’t return from here.
The door bangs behind me, its sound reverberating through the cool, void space. Briefly, I stand in the hallway, uncertain of where to go, what to do.
I’ve reached my breaking point.
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