Chapter 3 The Familiar Stranger

Morning sunlight filtered through frayed curtains, heating the lip of Amara's side of the bed. Julian's was still chilly.

She'd come back late the previous night, riding around the park that ringed the block for a couple of hours and leaving her car, parked and idle, wondering if she was more scared to stay or leave.

And then she glanced over at the vacant pillow next to her. The shape of his head was missing, as was the heat he once left behind in this bed.

The house was still-too still. She kicked off her legs over the edge of the bed and crept silently into the kitchen, bare feet slapping on the wood floor. One note on the counter sat alongside a half-cup of coffee.

"Meet Celeste at The Nest. Will be late. Don't wait. -J"

The Nest.

It was where they went for brunch, a cozy little corner eatery nestled beneath the flowering branches of a lovely magnolia tree. They found it their first spring together, still drunk with love and euphoria, hands never quite separating for a meal. The owners remembered their order verbatim.

He took her there today.

Amara stood staring at the note, her stomach roiling. It wasn't jealousy that coursed through her-that was merely awareness. A growing sense of realization that the closeness she had known with Julian was being redirected. Redirected. Replaced.

She proceeded to make herself a coffee anyway. Habit, not hunger, motivated her through the process.

She showered and dressed and trudged into the shop all morning.

The flower shop smelled of roses and dirt, comfort and drudgery. Her workers smiled at her as they came toward her, and she smiled back, though hers didn't quite reach her eyes. The building provided her with something Julian no longer did-security. Beauty without attachment. Purpose without pain.

At noon, Amara went outside to answer a call when she saw Julian across the street.

He had not seen her.

He sat outside at a patio table at The Nest, forward-leaning, genuinely laughing at what Celeste was saying. Eyes wrinkled at the edges, shoulders relaxed, voice low.

Lower than it had been in a month with Amara.

Celeste removed her hand from his jacket cuff, smoothed what was there, and he didn't pull back.

Amara went rigid in an instant. Not shock-there was nothing shocking in the moment-so much as the sting of confirmation.

She observed them talking as though they were in their own universe. Softness on Julian's face, lightness in his tone. He appeared... relieved.

And that hurt the most.

Because every time he glanced at Amara these days, she felt like the weight.

She wheeled and turned into her shop, racing heart thudding. She read orders for flowers, her hands shaking as she read delivery tickets. Hydrangeas for a birthday. Dahlias for a wedding. She'd thought her marriage would flourish like her designs-strong, cared for, healthy.

Now it was a withering bouquet she couldn't let go of.

By the time she got home that night, Julian was already home, hunched over the home office typing on the computer.

"Hey," he whispered as she walked by the doorway.

"Hi," she replied, continuing on.

He entered a little later into the kitchen, standing in the doorway.

"I saw Alex today," he said. "He asked if you were still doing that wreath class next weekend."

She nodded, her tone low. "I am."

"Good. You like those."

Remember why, she came close to saying. She added honey to her tea instead.

Julian took a step forward, his gaze on her. "You okay?"

Amara turned to him, diplomatic. "Can I ask you something?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "Go ahead."

"Do you... do you see how different you are with Celeste?"

His expression changed in the space of an eye-defensive, guarded. "Different how?"

"You laugh with her," Amara panted. "You listen. You lean forward. You look at her like she counts."

Julian rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Amara, come on. Don't make something into something."

"I'm not accusing," she said softly, stinging. "I'm just... paying attention."

He didn't say anything immediately.

Then, "Celeste and I have been friends our entire lives. We're comfortable."

"I was your sanctuary," Amara whispered.

His eyes flared. "This again? You're weighing everything down so damned heavily all the time. Can't we have one normal day without going into emotional corners?"

Something inside her snapped.

"You know what I learned today?" she said, her tone icy even as her chest quaked. "I've watched you speak with her. The way you smiled. The way your eyes softened. And I thought, 'He still has it in him.' You just don't give it to me anymore."

Julian winced, almost hurt. "That is not fair."

"No," she whispered. "What's not fair is to love someone who makes you feel like a burden. You ask me if I'm okay, but you don't let me tell you."

His arms fell to his sides. "So what? You want to throw everything away on missed dinners and misunderstandings?"

"It's not dinners, a few of them. It's about being invisible. It's about your voice still going soft, your heart still going full-just not with me."

There was a silence that spread between them. Dense. Timely.

"I'm so tired, Julian," she whispered. "Not just my body. My soul. I don't even know the man in front of me anymore."

He didn't touch her. He didn't apologize. He just looked away.

And in all of that silence, she knew it all.

Amara huddled in her studio room, a small haven all to herself in the midst of collapse. Dried rosebuds spilled over the ceiling in bunches, their wilted petals lovely in their own way.

She lit one candle and pulled out her journal.

June 10.

I saw him today-not the Julian, the one I married, but the version of him who still has softness in his eyes. He gave it to her. I don't begrudge Celeste. I think I'm mourning myself-the version of me that he used to look at like that.

He's now a stranger, you know.

And I'm a ghost in my house.

She paused.

Then appended:

But maybe...

Maybe ghosts don't stay forever.