Shane
Failing Marriage — “For the Kids, For Us.”
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They stayed married for the kids. That was the quiet truth neither of them said out loud. Not in arguments, not in therapy. But it lingered between every exchanged glance and every chore done in silence. There had once been love—real, full-bodied, breathless love. But that was years ago, before exhaustion, before the drifting apart felt easier than fighting to stay close.
They had two children. Two beautiful, intuitive little humans who still believed their family worked. Who still climbed into their bed during thunderstorms and begged for pancakes on Sunday mornings.
The decision was never spoken aloud. It didn’t need to be. It lived in the way they moved around each other, carefully. In the tired looks exchanged when their daughter threw a tantrum or their son refused to sleep unless both parents said goodnight.
They had built a life. Two kids. A mortgage. Matching calendars. But the connection between them had thinned to duty. What remained now was routine. And silence. And mornings like this one.
Honey stood in the bathroom mirror, quietly curling her hair while he slept behind her. The room was still gray with early light. She wore a short silk robe—one she hadn’t reached for in months. The fabric whispered over her skin as she adjusted the tie. She didn’t know if it was for him. Maybe it was just to remember how she used to feel.
Downstairs, the pan warmed under her hand. Eggs cracked. Bread in the toaster.
She heard him come in before she turned—bare feet, slow step, the scrape of his fingers through his hair. Shirtless. Sweatpants riding low. No boxers. When she glanced, she saw the print, visible through the fabric. Something in her chest twisted—not desire, not quite. Just memory.
He paused at the threshold. His eyes flicked over her—legs bare, robe clinging to her hips, hair soft and curled. His gaze lingered a breath longer than usual. She didn’t say anything, but she saw it.
Morning,he said, voice thick.