Chapter 41 The Fracture Beneath The Calm
1716 Words
The following morning, sunlight filtered faintly through the sheer curtains of their bedroom—soft gold spilling across the sheets, outlining the shape of Marnie curled at the edge of the bed.
She didn’t mean to distance herself.
Her body simply moved instinctively during the night, tracing the farthest side of the mattress as though her emotions needed room to breathe.
When she finally stirred, she felt an arm slide slowly around her waist—firm, warm, undeniably possessive.
Michael didn’t sleep deeply; he never had. And the moment she shifted, he was awake.
“Good morning,” he murmured against her shoulder, his voice rough with sleep.
Marnie went still for half a breath.
She had forgotten how close they were.
How close he always wanted to be.
To her surprise, he loosened his arm slightly, giving her the space she didn’t know she needed.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked softly.
She nodded, though the truth was messier.
“Yes… But I think I woke up earlier than usual.”
“Because of me?”
She hesitated again.
He let out a slow exhale. “Marnie… I meant what I said last night. I want you beside me, not against your will.”
“I know,” she whispered.
But even as she said it, her heartbeat was unsteady.
She wasn’t afraid of him, no.
She was afraid of how intensely she felt things around him.
“Then look at me,” he murmured.
She turned slightly, meeting his eyes. They were unreadable at first—dark, distant—but softened as soon as she looked back.
“I don’t want us starting the day with distance,” he said. “Come here.”
He reached out as though expecting her to move toward him.
But she didn’t.
Not because she didn’t want to… but because something had shifted in her last night.
They loved each other, yes.
But their marriage had layers—shadows, hesitations, unspoken fears.
Michael straightened slowly, reading her silence.
“You’re still overwhelmed,” he said.
She nodded.
Instead of being frustrated, he only reached for her hand, lifting it gently and resting it against his chest.
“Then we’ll find our balance,” he murmured. “Together.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, suddenly, Michael’s phone vibrated on the bedside table—sharp, insistent. Marnie flinched at the sudden sound.
He glanced at the caller ID.
His expression hardened instantly.
Marnie leaned slightly to see, but he shifted the phone away before she could. “It’s the hospital,” he said briefly.
But she knew that tone.
That wasn’t the hospital’s number.
“Is everything alright?” she asked quietly.
“Yes.” His voice was clipped. “I’ll handle it later.”
He turned off the phone and set it face down.
And that was the first moment Marnie realized:
He was hiding something.
Breakfast Tension
Downstairs, Michael moved efficiently as he prepared her breakfast, doing small things he knew she liked—warming the milk, slicing her fruit the way she preferred, brushing his fingers against her hip in passing as if to anchor her.
Yet tension threaded between them like a quiet wire.
Marnie sat at the island counter, stirring her milk absently while watching him.
“You’re quiet today,” she said.
“So are you.”
She didn’t deny it.
He placed a plate in front of her, then leaned on the counter with both hands, watching her eat.
It was a habit he developed—a protective, observant posture that could feel comforting or suffocating depending on the moment.
This morning… it felt heavier than usual.
“Michael,” she finally said, “who called earlier?”
“A work matter.”
“Are you sure?”
He straightened. “Why do you sound doubtful?”
“Because you looked… upset.”
He studied her face for a long moment.
Then he sighed and pulled a chair beside her, sitting close—too close. His thigh brushed hers beneath the table.
“Marnie,” he murmured, “not everything I deal with at work should burden you.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear—a gentle gesture, but firm.
“What are you asking, then?”
She swallowed. “I want honesty. Even about the things you think I can’t handle.”
He leaned back slightly, considering her.
“You’re asking for my vulnerability,” he said softly.
“Yes.”
He exhaled, the frustration fading into something more conflicted.
“The call wasn’t from a patient,” he admitted. “It was from someone who shouldn’t be contacting me anymore.”
Her breath hitched.
Not out of jealousy—though the sting was real—but because of how carefully he chose his words.
“Who?” she asked.
“An ex.”
Her body tensed before she could stop herself.
Michael rested his hand on her thigh gently, grounding her.
“She doesn’t matter,” he said firmly. “She hasn’t for a long time. But she’s persistent.”
Marnie looked down at her plate. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Because I didn’t want to give her space in our marriage. She doesn’t deserve it.”
She lifted her eyes to his.
“But hiding something does.”
His jaw tightened—not in anger, but in realization. He took her hand again, threading his fingers through hers.
“You’re right,” he murmured. “I should’ve told you.”
The sincerity in his voice softened her, but something inside her was still unsettled.
“And what does she want?” she asked.
He hesitated.
“A meeting.”
His voice grew low, as if restraining irritation.
“She found out I’m married.”
“And?”
“And she wants ‘closure.’ Or satisfaction. Or attention. I don’t care which. She’s not getting any.”
The possessive fire in his tone returned—sharp, fierce, protective.
But Marnie felt something new beneath it:
Fear.
Not hers.
His.
“Michael,” she whispered, standing up slowly. She walked behind him, gently wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
He placed a hand over hers, squeezing softly.
“You’re afraid I might misunderstand,” she murmured.
He closed his eyes briefly. “I’m afraid you’ll think she still matters. That you’ll think she holds part of my loyalty.”
“And does she?” Marnie asked, steady but soft.
His eyes opened—dark, intense, unwavering.
“No,” he said. “My loyalty is with you. Entirely.”
Her chest warmed at the words.
But something still lingered beneath her ribs—a tightness she couldn’t name.
Later that afternoon, Michael stood in his private study, reviewing patient charts.
Or pretending to.
He wasn’t focused.
His thoughts kept circling back to Marnie. To her quietness. To the way she hesitated when he touched her earlier. To the delayed reactions, she tried to hide.
He noticed everything.
A knock sounded softly at the door.
“Marnie?” he called.
She stepped inside slowly, her eyes gentle but uncertain.
“Can I come in?”
"You never have to ask."
He set aside his files as she approached him. She looked nervous—fingers fidgeting, lip between her teeth.
“Michael… can I ask something?”
“Anything.”
She sat across from him, folding her hands tightly.
“When your ex contacted you earlier… did it bother you?”
The question silenced him.
Not because he didn’t know the answer.
But the answer wasn’t simple.
“It bothered me,” he admitted. “But not for the reason you think.”
“Then what reason?”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“It bothered me because I knew it would affect you.”
Because I hate anything that hurts you.
Because I hate anything that threatens the peace between us.
But he didn’t say the rest aloud.
Marnie looked down.
“I’m not fragile,” she whispered.
“No,” he said. “But I’m protective.”
She smiled faintly—sadly. “Sometimes too protective.”
He winced. “I know.”
The distance that returned between them was subtle… like a thin crack in glass.
Barely visible—but capable of growing if left untouched.
“Marnie,” he murmured, standing and kneeling in front of her. He took both her hands, holding them firmly. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Don’t guard yourself with me.”
Her throat tightened.
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
“Of her?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Of us.”
He swallowed hard.
“Tell me.”
“I’m scared we love each other so strongly that we might break each other without meaning to."
His breath caught.
“And I’m scared,” she continued softly, “that I might not always know how to handle your intensity. Or my own.”
Her voice trembled.
Michael closed his eyes briefly, then rested his forehead against her knees.
“Marnie,” he whispered, “we will learn.”
His hands tightened around hers, not in dominance but in devotion.
“I will adjust,” he murmured. “I’ll listen. I’ll slow down. I’ll meet you where you are, not where I want you to be.”
Her breath shuddered.
He lifted his face, meeting her teary eyes.
“And I will never let you feel alone in this marriage,” he said. “Not even for a second.”
The raw sincerity hit her like a wave.
She reached for him, pulling him into her arms. And for a long time they stayed like that—holding each other, trying to bridge the gap neither wanted but both had felt.
Because love this deep wasn’t peaceful.
It was consuming.
Unpredictable.
Beautiful.
And terrifying.
And it demanded honesty that cut to the bone.
When Michael finally spoke again, his voice was soft and rough.
“Let’s face everything together,” he whispered into her hair. “Even the parts that frighten us.”
And Marnie, with her heart trembling yet steady, whispered back:
“Yes.”
- Writer
