Chapter 2 Shadows Over Sunlight

The candles burned warmly on the table, their light casting stretched, golden shadows on the walls of the kitchen. Amara set out the silverware for the third time, folding the napkin creases in a desperate attempt to send Julian onto the porch with accuracy.

She glared at the clock once more - 8:17 p.m.

Dinner was at seven.

The food had rested for thirty minutes prior. The lemon herb roasted chicken stiffed now in its platter. The risotto had clumped slightly from waiting. She'd garnished everything with edible flowers - violets, calendula, and pansies - flourishes Julian once admired.

She had prepared his favorite wine sauce from the ground up. He used to ridicule her relentlessly for being "fancy with feelings," particularly if she was cooking. Now, she wasn't certain if he even gave any consideration anymore to what she included in the meals.

She shifted restlessly in her chair, her phone screen glowing beside her. No missed call. No text.

Amara got up slowly, went into the kitchen, and turned off the warming tray on the stove. Metal rang in the quiet.

Expectation heat had filled years and years ago. In its place was something more real - easy, nearly ordinary in its familiarity.

Then at last, keys clinked as they jammed in the lock.

She stood up straight automatically. Her hands evened out the cream knit sweater. A part of her wished he would walk in, smiling, apologizing, flowers in hand - anything.

The door creaked open.

Julian came in, shaking his navy coat out, and let out a sigh. "Hey," he growled, depositing his briefcase.

"Hi," Amara said softly.

She watched him remove his shoes - a practiced routine. His hair was slightly tousled, a little longer than usual. He didn't look at her right away.

"I thought you'd be home at seven," she said, trying to keep her voice even.

He glanced at the clock, then shrugged. "Got stuck at the office. Celeste wanted to go over the Pellington proposal before next week's pitch."

Of course she did.

Amara smiled. "Dinner's cold, but I can heat it up."

Julian's face whitened - a flash of guilt, or annoyance, or maybe both. "You didn't have to wait. You know how things are."

"I know," Amara said quietly, crossing to the stove. "But I still do."

He said nothing to that. Just sat down at the table, pulling out a chair. Already scrolling on his phone. Blue light of the screen shining in his eyes.

She put the warm plate in front of him, sat down across from the table. There was silence between them.

After a few bites, Julian spoke with his mouth open. "Celeste told a joke yesterday. We were going over the pitch deck and she said I shouldn't have worn that gray suit again - the one our wedding party both of us wore to it."

He smiled. "She never minces words, that one."

Amara attempted to smile, but it was a brittle, plastic one. "You mention her a lot now."

Julian blinked, then sat back in his chair. "She's my business partner, Amara. I see her more than anybody. It's not like I'm hiding things."

"I didn't say you were," she said hastily, quietly. "It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm married to a ghost."

Julian frowned. "What does that mean?"

"You're here, but you're not here anymore." Her words trembled. "You used to ask how I was at the end of each day. You used to care when I repositioned the flowers down the hall. Now, I'm furniture again."

He made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, pushing his plate aside. "For goodness' sake, Amara. Don't get so melodramatic. Work's just been crazy."

She gazed at her knees, then at him once more. "We have not eaten together for more than a week. You did forget our anniversary. You didn't even call and congratulate me on the opening of the new workshop."

"I apologized," he stated, although she didn't recall anything like that having occurred. "And I worry about your workshops. I'm just... overwhelmed."

"Is it work only?" Her voice dropped. "Or is it Celeste?"

Julian's face grew black. "Don't think about this."

"She borrows your shirts, Julian."

He looked at her, mouth opening briefly. Then he laughed - cold, mocking.

"She borrowed one when we got drenched in the rain last week. She didn't have a spare change of clothes in the office."

Amara's heart grew cold. She was not a nag. She was not a jealous woman. But she was not blind.

You talk about her more than you talk about me.

Julian sidestepped her. "Celeste and I grew up together. She's family. She's been there for everything. You knew that when you married me."

Amara winced at the words.

"I didn't marry her, Julian. I married you."

He disregarded her glance, raking his hair back with his hand. "This is getting old."

Amara got up. "Then say something new. Be someone new."

The silence lengthened once more. He didn't stir. Didn't move. Sat there, swiping through his phone like nothing was said.

Amara walked to the sink and began rinsing the dishes. The water ran warm over her hands. Her chest ached with the weight of everything unsaid.

Behind her, Julian's chair scraped the floor.

"I'm going to bed," he said flatly.

She didn't turn around. "Okay."

A beat passed. And then the soft thud of his footsteps, gone down the corridor. The bedroom door clicked shut.

Amara didn't move.

The water sound persisted, filling the void.

She turned off the faucet and hunched over to reach for a towel to dry her hands on. She rose and crossed to the window and looked out into the street below. The city was at twilight, dimly lit by lampposts, glinting like isolated stars.

Something altered in her chest - a quiet determination. Like an eddy breeze that only changed.

Her affection for Julian still lingered. She could sense it in the tightening of her heart as she watched him laugh, remembered the way he smoothed her hair and called her "his favorite storm."

Love was not meant to be like being forgotten.

She opened her journal on the sideboard and started a new page.

June 9.

He was late again. Laid-back, as usual. She appeared in the narrative more than I did. Perhaps I am no longer required in his stories. Perhaps I am not cut out to be the demure girl hovering on the fringes, hoping for morsels of love. Perhaps love - true love - does not appear as waiting to be seen.

She placed the pen on the desk and shut the book.

And she headed into the bedroom, not into bed, but to pack a small overnight case.

Just tonight.

Just to breathe.

Outside, the moon was low over the city skyline, silvering the streets below - on a world still spinning, even when hearts freeze.