The Day I Stopped Waiting

I used to plan the entire menu for Caleb's birthday party three months in advance. I would order custom tableware, hand-paint menu cards, and fly to whatever city he was in on business just for the surprise.

But now, I simply tossed the gift box into the fireplace.

I turned and strode to the walk-in closet, grabbing my clutch and heels, ready to leave.

Caleb grabbed my arm, his expression hardening. "Juliet, where are you going at this hour? Mason is waiting for you to read him a bedtime story."

A dry laugh escaped my lips. "That's rich, Caleb."

"When I used to ask where you were going at three in the morning, you told me I had no concept of boundaries, that you needed 'personal space.'"

"But now that I’ve stopped asking, you're angry? Now you want to track my every move?"

I walked straight to the door.

As it slammed shut behind me, I heard him roar, his voice tight with fury. "All you know how to do is throw a tantrum! If you walk out that door tonight, don't you dare come back!"

I could hear the absolute certainty in his voice. The conviction that I'd come crawling back, terrified of losing him.

But I didn't even pause, contempt burning in my eyes.

In his world, I was just a clown, utterly dependent on him, incapable of ever leaving him.

He thought I was insignificant. That I had no other choice.

But even clowns get tired of the act.

If there was no room for me in my own marriage, then I would find it elsewhere.

…

At the jazz bar, my cousin Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. If it isn't the great Juliet, finally gracing us with her presence? Taking a break from your big-shot banker and your little prince?"

"What happened?"

"Alright, knock it off." I grinned, giving her a light shove. "From now on, you'd better call me whenever something fun is happening."

Chloe scoffed. "Are you really ready to ditch the husband and son you worship?"

I couldn't blame her for the skepticism. Since marrying Caleb, I had slowly faded from my own social circle.

Whenever friends invited me out, my answer was always a vague, "Next time."

I downed the drink in my glass. "Yes. I am now."

They abandoned me. It was my turn to do the same.

At three in the morning, I returned home, the scent of expensive gin clinging to me like a new perfume.

Caleb was sitting in the darkened living room.

His suit was rumpled, his tie yanked loose. In five years of marriage, I’d never seen him so utterly undone.

He saw me and let out a shaky sigh of relief, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smug grin. "You're back. Finally realized you can't live without Mason and me, huh?"

"I almost thought you had the guts to actually leave. Since you can't, you should learn how to behave."

I dropped onto the sofa next to him and hiccupped.

His brow furrowed. "Juliet, you went drinking? In the middle of the night? Who were you with?"

I was suddenly reminded of all the nights he’d come home late, reeking of alcohol from "client dinners."

I would wait up, and he would brush past me, annoyed. "It's for work. Why do you always have to ask so many damn questions?"

The irony was suffocating. Now he was the one playing interrogator.

The noise woke Mason, who came padding out of his room barefoot.

He sniffed the air, wrinkled his nose, and scurried to Caleb's side.

"Mommy, you smell gross! Sienna doesn't smell like you. She always smells nice, like a strawberry cake!"

"And she buys me pizza and ice cream! All you do is get mad and make me eat yucky vegetables. You never let me have fun, and you're so boring! And now you stink!"

I stared at Caleb and Mason, a profound wave of weariness washing over me.

Ten months I carried him. Five years I spent poring over thousands of recipes, just to make sure his diet was balanced.

I knew junk food destroyed his digestion—it always ended in stomach aches and another cold.