Chapter eleven: AVI:The Questions Never End
1580 Words
I had to admit something.
I appreciated what Xavier had done over the weekend.
Not the locking-me-inside-the-house part.
Absolutely not.
That part was still insane.
But the rest?
I needed it.
I had been exhausted.
For three years, my life had been nothing but work, responsibility, family expectations, and pretending that everything was fine.
I hadn’t realized how badly I needed one day where nobody expected anything from me.
I had slept.
I had eaten properly.
I had watched a movie.
I had actually relaxed.
So, yes.
I appreciated the weekend.
I just wasn’t going to tell Xavier that.
He would probably become unbearable.
And unfortunately, he was already unbearable enough.
Because Monday morning came, and Xavier was back to his favorite hobby.
Questioning me.
“When are you coming home?”
“What are you doing?”
“Who are you with?”
“Have you eaten?”
“When are you leaving?”
“Why are you leaving so late?”
It never ended.
Xavier was a question pit.
A bottomless pit of questions.
And if I didn’t answer one, he would ask again.
And again.
And again.
Until I gave him an answer just to make him stop.
I wasn’t used to it.
But I had started tolerating it.
Mostly because I had realized fighting Xavier over every single question would give me a second full-time job.
And I already had one.
Law.
⸻
That afternoon, I was sitting in my office going through some documents when my phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Finally!”
I smiled.
“Sam.”
“Yes, your favorite law-school friend.”
“That’s debatable.”
Sam laughed.
We had met during law school.
He was one of the few people I genuinely considered a friend.
“Listen, my birthday is Thursday.”
“I know.”
“And you RSVP’d.”
“I did.”
“I’m just making sure you’re still coming.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good. We’re going to have a good time.”
“Where?”
“The club.”
“Of course.”
“You say that like you don’t know me.”
“I do know you.”
We laughed.
We started catching up.
Work.
Life.
Law school.
Old classmates.
It was normal.
Easy.
And then I noticed it.
The irritation.
A strange tension settled over the conversation.
My phone was vibrating.
I looked at the screen.
Xavier.
I ignored it.
It rang again.
I sighed.
Then again.
I knew if I didn’t answer, he’d probably call ten more times.
“Sam, I have to go.”
“Xavier?”
I paused.
“Yeah.”
“Your husband?”
“Unfortunately.”
Sam laughed.
“I’ll see you Thursday.”
“I’ll be there.”
I ended the call.
Immediately, I answered Xavier.
“Hello?”
“Who were you talking to?”
I closed my eyes.
“Xavier.”
“The number was busy.”
“I was on the phone.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“Who was it?”
“My personal business.”
Silence.
Then—
“I’m your husband.”
“And I’m a lawyer.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“People call me. Clients call me. Colleagues call me. Friends call me.”
“Okay.”
I frowned.
“Okay?”
“Fine.”
I relaxed slightly.
Then he continued.
“But who was the client?”
I stared at my phone.
“You cannot be serious.”
“Who was it?”
“It wasn’t a client.”
“Then who?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because you were talking for three minutes.”
I blinked.
“You timed me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to know.”
“Xavier, you cannot time my phone calls.”
“I just did.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“This is ridiculous.”
There was a pause.
Then the inevitable question.
“When are you coming home?”
I closed my eyes.
That question.
I had heard it more than fifty times.
“I have work.”
“Come home early.”
“Why?”
“You shouldn’t be outside too late.”
“I’m an adult.”
“I know.”
“Then let me live like one.”
He was silent.
Finally, he said,
“Just come home.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
I hadn’t told him about Sam.
I wasn’t stupid.
If I told Xavier I was going to a party at a club with a male friend, I already knew what would happen.
He would ask questions.
Then more questions.
Then he’d tell me he was coming.
Then he’d probably cancel the entire event himself.
I wasn’t going to deal with that.
But there was one problem.
I had already RSVP’d.
The tables were booked.
Sam had already paid.
And Thursday was coming.
I had to tell Xavier.
Somehow.
⸻
Dinner that evening was quiet.
Too quiet.
I kept thinking about how to bring it up.
Why was I nervous?
I didn’t understand.
I was twenty-five years old.
I was a lawyer.
I had stood in courtrooms arguing against people who terrified everyone else.
Yet I was sitting across from my husband wondering how to tell him I wanted to attend a birthday party.
It was ridiculous.
I finally put my fork down.
“Xavier.”
He looked up.
“Yes?”
“I’ll be going to a party.”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
I blinked.
“I haven’t even told you—”
“No.”
“Xavier.”
“You’re not going.”
His voice was firm.
Final.
I stared at him.
“You don’t even know what party I’m talking about.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“How does it not matter?”
“You’re not going.”
I took a breath.
“It’s my friend’s birthday.”
“No.”
“I already RSVP’d.”
“Cancel it.”
I stared at him.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my husband.”
I laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“If you’re going somewhere, you take me.”
“No.”
His eyes hardened.
“No?”
“I don’t want you there.”
“Then you don’t go.”
“I am going.”
“No, you’re not.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Xavier, I’m going to a friend’s birthday party.”
“You should cancel.”
“I already committed.”
“Cancel it.”
His voice remained calm.
That was somehow worse.
There was no shouting.
No anger.
Just certainty.
Like the decision had already been made.
By him.
Not me.
I pushed my chair back.
“Why are you trying to control every part of my life?”
“I’m not controlling you.”
“You just told me I can’t attend a birthday party.”
“Because you’re my husband.”
“And that gives you the right to dictate where I go?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
He genuinely believed that.
That was the frightening part.
“Being married to someone doesn’t mean you own them.”
Something shifted in his expression.
“I never said I owned you.”
“You act like it.”
Silence.
Neither of us moved.
Finally, Xavier said,
“I don’t want you going somewhere without me.”
“That’s your problem.”
He looked at me.
“It’s going to become yours.”
I shook my head.
“I can’t do this.”
I stood.
“Where are you going?”
“To bed.”
“You’re leaving the conversation?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t stop me.
I walked upstairs.
⸻
I got into bed and stared at the ceiling.
Why was I tolerating this?
Why was I allowing someone I barely knew to question where I went?
Why was I explaining my phone calls?
Why was I nervous about telling him I had plans?
Why did his approval suddenly feel important?
I hated that.
I hated that I had started thinking about his reactions before making decisions.
I had spent three years living independently.
Three years without him.
Three years making my own choices.
Now, after only two weeks, I was lying in bed wondering whether my husband would allow me to attend my friend’s birthday.
It was absurd.
Completely absurd.
The bedroom door opened.
Xavier walked in.
He changed silently.
Then got into bed.
Neither of us spoke.
I turned away from him.
After several minutes, his voice came.
“You’re still going.”
It wasn’t a question.
I stared at the wall.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Don’t go.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was again.
That firm voice.
That certainty.
As if my life was something he could organize.
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know what I was going to do.
But one thing was becoming painfully clear.
This marriage was no longer just a piece of paper.
Xavier was slowly inserting himself into every corner of my life.
And I wasn’t sure whether I was going to let him stay there…
or finally push him out.
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