Page 22

I've never looked at anyone else before.You've been perfectly content too,my inner voice cuts in, dry and unimpressed.

I huff out a breath. She's not wrong. I've been telling myself for years that I'm fine. That what I have is enough. But suddenly… it doesn't feel like it is.

I've never cheated on Pete. The idea has never even crossed my mind. He's my partner. My home. Even now, after that moment in the hallway, I know one thing with absolute certainty: I would never betray him. Never.

But I can't lie to myself either. Whatever that was… the way that stranger made me feel, Pete has never made me feel like that. Not once.

No butterflies. No heat curling low in my stomach. No breath catching, no sense of… something shifting under my skin.

Our love has always been different. Calmer than that. Softer. Comfortable. Safe. Even our sex life reflects it. It's good. It is.

But that's all it's ever been. Good.

And for the first time, I catch myself wondering… when didgoodstop feeling like enough?

For a while now, I've been telling myself that I don't want a different man. Only a different life with the man I already have.

Or at least, a life. Period.

One that doesn't revolve around news schedules, banking emergencies, and—if I'm being honest—my mother's pill routine. But now, here, feeling the stranger's gaze still on me, a realization settles in slowly, then all at once, tightening around my chest. If I want more… If I want something bigger, it can't be with Pete.

I close my eyes for a second, letting that truth sink in, even as part of me wants to push it back down where it's been living for years. Now that the realization has hit, I can't pretend I don't see it: Pete will never change.

He's proven that, over and over again. I just… chose not to see it. Like with the lingerie I wore the night of his promotion. Or another time in the shower. Pete wants missionary, and that'sallhe wants. It's the only way he's ever comfortable. The only way his careful, buttoned-up mind can handle sex. And that's okay for him.

It's just not okay for me anymore.

I thought maybe once he got his promotion, things would shift. That he'd loosen up. That we'd finallylivea little.

But I was wrong.

This is Pete.

All of it.

He wants to go to work and come home to a wife and dinner. He wants quiet weekends—stock reports spread across the table, maybe an online chess game, maybe sleeping in. He wants a life that runs smoothly. Predictably. He wants me there when he needs me. Quiet. Unobtrusive. And most of all… undemanding.

The thought doesn't make me angry. It makes me tired. Because I don't doubt that he loves me. He does. He loves the version of me I've been for the past six years. The one I thought I needed to be. The one I chose to be. And that's on me. I swallow hard. Because the truth is… that isn't me.

Not anymore. Maybe it never was. I didn't get trapped here. No, I walked into this life willingly. I wanted Pete. Needed him. Needed what he offered: stability, safety, something solid to hold onto when everything else felt like it might fall apart.

And for a while… it was enough.

Maybe if we'd had kids, it would still be enough. I don't know. Maybe it's good that we don't have any, because I wouldn't want to make this decision with children in the mix. Then again. Kids. Six years.

The thought hits deeper than I expect.

Six years.

Six years of trying, of hoping, of quiet disappointments we stopped talking about along the way. Maybe if there had been a baby—something that wasours—this life would feel fuller. More rooted. Like it meant something beyond just… existing in it. But there isn't. It's just us, shrouded in the silence between what we wanted and what we got.

I exhale slowly, my chest tight. Mom moving in didn't help. I know it's not fair. Pete didn't force that on me. He accepted it. Supported it. Like he always does. But it added another layer. Another reason to stay. Another reason not to question the life I'd built.

And now…

Now I can't unsee it.

I've been playing a role.