Reclaimed by love

Chapter 3: Familiar strangers

NICHOLAS

The engine hums beneath us as I steer through quiet streets, the soft glow of city lights sliding across the windshield in streaks. Arianna hasn’t said a word since we left the house. Not about the food, not about Dad's wine appreciation, not even about Celeste’s sarcastic jokes. She’s usually full of small observations—light, warm things that fill the silence.

Now it’s just… quiet. The kind that presses into your chest like a weight. The kind that doesn't fade away, even with the music playing.

She’s staring out the window, arms crossed, her profile lit in flashes as we pass under the streetlights. Her burgundy wrap dress clings to her in soft folds—the one I always loved on her.

I didn’t even notice it earlier.

“Dinner was nice,” I offer, trying to c***k the shell.

She hums. Non-committal. “Mm.”

“Dad seemed impressed with the wine. Good pick.”

She nods. “He always is when it’s expensive.”

I chuckle, lightly, hoping she’ll join me. She doesn’t.

Before I can try again, my phone vibrates on the dashboard. Olivia’s name flashes across the screen.

“Hey, Liv,” I say, my voice instinctively lighter.

“Hey, sorry to bother,” she says, chipper as always. “I just remembered—I left that folder I wanted you to see on the coffee table. The one with the suggestions you could include in your proposal draft.”

“I’ll swing by tomorrow and grab it.”

“I can bring it to your office, if that’s easier.”

I pause. “That’s… really not necessary. I wouldn't want to stress you”

“Ohh come on, I don’t mind,” she adds quickly. “I was going to stop by regardless. Evelyn’s out of her weird tea again. And I still have your charger. Again.”

There’s laughter in her voice. Soft. Familiar.

“That’s what, five times now since you started coming over?”

The air in the car sharpens.

“Yeah,” she continues. “I’m convinced you’re leaving stuff on purpose. You and that charger. Remember I even had to bring it to your office just last week as well?”

Arianna shifts slightly in her seat. She’s no longer looking out the window. She’s looking at me.

“Anyway,” Olivia says, still bright, “I’ll see you tomorrow Nick.”

I force a chuckle. “Alright Liv” I say, and end the call.

Silence again. Heavier now.

“You’ve been going over to the house every day?” Arianna’s voice is calm. Too calm.

I grip the wheel tighter. “Not every day. Just a few times to help out. Mom's had a lot going on, and Olivia… needed support.”

She nods slowly. “Support.”

“She lost both her parents. It’s been a rough few weeks.”

“I know that, Nick. I was at the funeral too. I sent flowers. Wrote her a card. What I didn’t know was that you’ve been at the house almost every day while telling me you were buried in work.”

I glance at her. Her face is unreadable.

“It wasn’t planned,” I say, defensive now. “It just happened. I’d stop by, Mom would ask for help, Olivia would be around. It became a thing.”

“Your mom has Celeste. There are staff. But what hurts more is that you didn’t think to tell me.”

I exhale, tapping the wheel. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

She lets out a soft, humorless laugh. “Right. Because where you spend most of your time doesn’t matter to your wife.”

“You’re twisting this.”

“I’m asking for honesty, Nick.”

“I’ve been honest,” I snap. “You just—don’t see the full picture.”

“And what about her suggestion for your proposal? Since when did you two become business partners?” She asks, voice tight.

“Now you care about the company?” I deadpan

“What's that supposed to mean?” I close my eyes at the pain in her voice.

“It's nothing” I say instead.

She falls silent. I don’t push further.

---

That night, after she’s gone to bed, I sit on the edge of the couch with my laptop open, the screen glowing white with a report I’ve skimmed four times without absorbing a word.

I think back to last Tuesday.

I was fixing a cabinet hinge in the Stones’ kitchen when Olivia sat down on the counter with a mug of tea she hated but drank anyway because Mom insisted it helped with grief. I cracked a joke about it being more stress than comfort. She laughed.

Then, out of nowhere:

“So what was Arianna like growing up?”

I paused. “Probably as annoying as you were.”

She laughed lightly. “I’m serious.”

I hesitated longer this time. “I don’t really know.”

She tilted her head. “Really?”

“Arianna's past has always been a touchy subject. She went through a lot. I figured it was better not to pry.”

She didn’t press, but I caught the subtle shift in her face—surprise, maybe a little judgment.

She asked questions about us later. About how we met. How we built a life. She always had these careful, gentle observations. Nothing cruel, just… curious

—

But now I hear Olivia’s voice in my head, asking the kinds of questions I wish I had answers to. About my wife. The woman I married.

What was her childhood like? What did she dream about as a kid? What made her want to run away to study in New York? I know the basics, her brother's death, her separation from her parents but not the details, not the why's.

And now that I think of it…

There was a night, early in our marriage. I came home late and found Arianna curled up on the couch, watching some old home video she’d dug out of a dusty storage box. I’d never seen it before—her and a boy I now know was her brother, Alex, racing up a hill. The wind in their hair. Their laughter filled the room.

I kissed her cheek and asked, “You alright?”

She wiped her eyes and said, “Just remembering.”

I could’ve asked more. Could’ve sat with her and let her tell me about him. But I just nodded, said “Okay,” and walked into the kitchen to heat up leftovers. She turned off the TV not long after.

I didn’t ask again.

---

A few days ago, when Olivia visited the office, I was giving her a tour when she mentioned something about investor stress. I’d just ranted about a delay in the funding round, and she’d listened—really listened.

Then she asked, “What does Arianna think you should do?”

“She doesn’t really… know all the details,” I’d admitted.

“Why not?”

“It's not her area of expertise. She doesn’t ask much.”

Olivia looked at me gently. “She loves you, though. Doesn’t she want to know?”

I didn’t know how to respond. I still don’t.

Arianna supports me. She brings food when I forget to eat. She checks in. She leaves little sticky notes on my laptop reminding me of meetings.

But she never asks about pitch decks or funding strategies or which partner’s dragging their feet. She’s never been… inquisitive about the company. Not like Olivia. She stays in her lane.

And maybe that’s fine. Maybe that’s normal.

Maybe I assumed that’s just who she was.

But now… I’m not sure.

Do I know her?

Or did I just fall in love with the parts she handed me and never wonder what was still hidden in her pocket?

—

The bedroom is dark when I step in. Arianna’s lying with her back to me, her breathing even, but I know she’s not asleep. I know her rhythms.

I slide into bed beside her. The sheets are cool. The space between us feels wider than it ever has.

“Goodnight,” I murmur.

She says nothing.

And I don’t know if it’s silence from sleep… or something else entirely.

But I feel it.

The unraveling.

And I don’t know where to begin tying the thread back together.