A love that Weathers time.

CHAPTER 4: The Double life

It is a terrifying thing to watch the person you love become a ghost in your own home.

In the weeks that followed the midnight storm, the apartment became a stage, and Mae and Shanly were merely actors reciting lines to keep up appearances. The screaming had stopped, replaced by something far worse: a polite, agonizing neutrality. They navigated the kitchen like strangers in a crowded café, offering quiet, hushed "excuse me's" and "thank you's" as they passed each other.

Shanly spent less and less time at home. He left before the sun was fully up and returned long after Mae had retreated to the bedroom.

Mae tried. She bought his favorite groceries, left gentle, supportive notes on the kitchen counter, and even tried to dress up one evening in a desperate bid to capture a flicker of the gaze that used to make her feel like the only girl in the world. But when Shanly finally came home that night, he had barely looked at her. He had murmured a quick, tired compliment before retreating to his laptop, his eyes locked onto the screen, his mind completely elsewhere.

He was physically there, but emotionally, he had already checked out.

What Mae didn’t know was that Shanly's mind wasn't on his spreadsheets. It was in a small, dimly lit art gallery three blocks from his office.

"You're overthinking it again, corporate guy," Jessa laughed, her voice a bright, melodic contrast to the low hum of the jazz playing in the background.

They were sitting on a velvet couch in the corner of a local gallery where Jessa was helping set up an exhibition. Shanly had started taking "extended lunch breaks" and "early evening client meetings"—all of which were spent with Jessa.

With Jessa, Shanly felt light. There were no heavy conversations about their future, no unspoken resentments from a shared past, and no suffocating expectations. Jessa didn't ask him to be a provider, a husband, or a protector. She simply enjoyed his company in the present moment.

"I'm not overthinking," Shanly protested, a genuine, easy smile spreading across his face. "I'm just observing. There's a difference."

"Right, sure," Jessa teased, leaning closer to point at a large, abstract canvas on the wall. "But you're looking at that painting like it's a tax audit. It's art, Shanly. You're supposed to feel it, not analyze it."

Shanly looked from the painting to Jessa. In the soft gallery lighting, she looked radiant, her hazel eyes sparkling with an infectious vitality. For a brief, intoxicating moment, the guilt that usually clawed at his chest faded away. Being with Jessa felt like stepping out of a dark, dusty room and into the warm, blinding sunlight. It was thrilling. It made him feel young, alive, and entirely free of the invisible chains of his married life.

"And what do you feel when you look at it?" Shanly asked softly, his voice dropping.

Jessa turned her head, her gaze meeting his. The playful smirk on her face softened into something deeper, more intense. The space between them suddenly felt highly charged, crackling with an unspoken tension.

"I feel like... sometimes you have to burn down the old structure to build something beautiful," Jessa whispered, her eyes locked onto his.

The words struck a dangerous chord in Shanly's heart. Burn down the old structure. Was that what he was doing? Was he ready to destroy seven years of history with Mae for this intoxicating rush of the new?

His phone buzzed in his pocket. The sudden vibration broke the spell.

Shanly pulled it out and felt his stomach drop. It was a text from Mae.

I made your favorite chicken pot pie tonight. I thought maybe we could eat together? No pressure. Just miss you.

The guilt rushed back in a suffocating wave, choking the warmth out of his chest. He looked at the screen, then looked up at Jessa, who was watching him with a curious, slightly knowing expression. He felt like a man standing on a tightrope, looking down at a terrifying drop on either side.

"Everything okay?" Jessa asked gently.

"Yeah," Shanly lied, his throat tight as he quickly locked his phone. "Just... a reminder. I should probably get back to the office."

The walk back to his office was a blur of noise and flashing streetlights. Shanly felt utterly fractured. He was living a double life, torn between the comfortable, agonizing weight of his past and the thrilling, terrifying promise of a new future.

When he finally unlocked the door to his apartment later that night, the scent of home-cooked food still lingered in the air. The kitchen was clean, the table set for one, with a plate covered in foil resting on the counter.

Mae was sitting on the living room rug, surrounded by old photo albums.

Shanly froze in the doorway, his heart pounding. "Mae? What are you doing?"

Mae looked up. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her face pale. She didn't look angry; she just looked incredibly tired, as if she had spent the entire evening carrying a weight too heavy for her shoulders.

"I was just looking through these," Mae said softly, gesturing to an open album. It was a page from their college days—pictures of them laughing in the rain, wrapped in a single oversized blanket. "Do you remember this day, Shan? We lost our umbrella, and you insisted on walking three miles back to the dorms anyway because you said the rain made me look beautiful."

Shanly swallowed hard, the memory hitting him like a physical blow. "Mae, please. Don't."

"Why not, Shanly?" Mae's voice broke, a single tear spilling over her lashes. "Why can't we talk about the times we were happy? Why does it feel like you're trying to erase everything we've ever been to each other?"

"I'm not trying to erase anything," Shanly said defensively, his voice tight as he kept his distance, remaining near the entryway. He couldn't go near her. If he went near her, he would have to face the devastating reality of what he was doing.

"Then look at me," Mae begged, standing up. She walked toward him, stopped just a few feet away, and looked searchingly into his eyes. "Really look at me, Shanly. Are you still in there? Is the boy who loved me still in there?"

Shanly looked at her—the girl who had stood by his side when he had absolutely nothing, the girl who knew every scar on his body and every fear in his mind. And in that moment, all he felt was a profound, suffocating numbness. The guilt of his emotional betrayal with Jessa had built a wall so high that he couldn't reach the love he once had for Mae.

He slowly looked away. "I don't know, Mae," he whispered. "I don't know who I am anymore."

The silence that followed was absolute. Mae stared at him, her heart shattering into a thousand quiet pieces. She didn't scream, she didn't cry out. She simply nodded, a devastating, tragic understanding settling over her features.

She realized then that she was fighting a battle she had already lost.