Chapter 4
1055 Words
The air felt different on Saturday morning. Jessica stood by the kitchen window, watching sunlight filter through the thin lace curtains. The house was quiet, but it was a fragile kind of quiet—the kind that never lasted long.
Calvin had been home for barely twenty-four hours. He spent most of Friday in his office with the door shut, emerging only for meals, where he offered no real conversation—just critiques. The way Jessica cooked the eggs. The way Samuel slouched at the table. How Lucy interrupted too much. The children, sensing the shift, grew cautious.
Lucy sat on the couch flipping through her storybook, but her eyes kept darting toward the hallway. She could hear Calvin’s low voice on a phone call, and though she didn’t understand the words, his tone made her stomach tighten. Samuel, curled beside Jessica on the couch, clutched a worn stuffed bear. He didn’t say much these days.
Jessica gently ran her fingers through Samuel’s hair, her gaze distant. Her mind reeled through the week before Calvin returned—how peaceful the house had felt. How the kids laughed louder. How she could breathe. Now, she counted every movement. Every look. Every breath Calvin took.
The memory of last night replayed in her head. After the children had gone to bed, Calvin had come to her room—no affection, just a possessive kiss, a grip on her wrist. They had lain together, but it hadn’t been about love. It was about power. Jessica had submitted, her body still and quiet while her mind drifted elsewhere—back to when they were younger, when the touches had felt tender and meaningful.
She remembered a night after their engagement—snow falling softly outside, candles lit on the windowsill. Calvin had surprised her with dinner. He’d laughed with her, told her she was beautiful. He had once made her feel wanted. Those moments had become ghosts now.
“Mom?” Lucy asked, pulling Jessica from the memory. “Can I go outside?”
Jessica looked down at her daughter. Her eyes were wide, hopeful.
“Just the backyard,” Jessica said softly. “And stay where I can see you.”
Lucy nodded, grabbed her little coat, and hurried out. Samuel stayed put, his head leaning against his mother’s side.
In the backyard, Lucy sat on the grass, knees pulled to her chest. She plucked dandelions and made quiet wishes.
“I wish Daddy was nice again,” she whispered to the breeze. “Like when we went to the beach and he let me bury his feet in the sand.”
Inside, Samuel whispered, “Is Daddy mad at me?”
Jessica's heart cracked. “No, sweetheart. He’s just tired.”
But even she didn’t believe it.
Upstairs, Calvin watched from the window, cigarette in hand. Smoke curled around him. He hated how Jessica looked at him now—like she feared him. He hated how the kids flinched when he raised his voice. But instead of questioning his behavior, he blamed them. They didn’t respect him. Jessica was weak. The kids were unruly.
Yet behind that hardened gaze, Calvin felt a flicker of something else—something uncomfortable.
He missed the old days.
He missed the way Jessica used to light up when he walked into the room, the way she once clung to his every word. He missed their early dates, their late-night conversations, the sense that he was her whole world. Back then, she had needed him—completely. And he had loved that feeling.
He missed holding baby Lucy for the first time, the shock of warmth and pride he felt. He missed teaching Samuel to stack blocks, the boy’s small hands reaching out for his approval. The past felt cleaner, more certain—before responsibility dulled it, before control became his obsession.
Calvin thought back even further—to his teenage years. His father had been a quiet tyrant, never raising his voice but always making sure everyone in the house feared him. Calvin remembered standing at attention while his mother silently served dinner, her eyes hollow. There had been love once, he assumed, but it had long since vanished under duty and dread. He had promised himself he’d never become that man. But he was starting to see the reflection more clearly now.
He remembered college, where he first met Jessica. She was soft-spoken but bright, always scribbling in her journal. He was drawn to her vulnerability, her trust. It made him feel powerful—special. She looked at him like he could do anything, be anything. He became the version of himself he wanted her to see: kind, attentive, funny. But that version took work. And slowly, as their lives filled with stress, children, and expectations, his mask began to slip.
He flicked ash into a glass and turned away.
What Calvin couldn’t admit—not even to himself—was that somewhere along the way, fear had taken root. A gnawing fear that he wasn’t enough. That he wasn’t in control. That Jessica would stop needing him altogether. And when that fear took over, it twisted into dominance.
He needed her to wear the necklace because without it, he felt invisible. Her independence became a threat. The children’s laughter without him in the room felt like betrayal.
The truth clawed at him in the dark, though he pushed it down with liquor and silence: he was losing them. Slowly, day by day. And the more he felt it slipping, the harder he clenched. But love didn’t grow under pressure—it withered.
Still, Calvin told himself it was their fault. Jessica had changed. The kids were too loud. No one appreciated the sacrifices he made.
And yet, when he closed his eyes, it was that snowy night he saw. Her laughter. Her warmth. How he used to be enough.
Jessica stood, smoothing Samuel’s curls. “Let’s go get your sister.”
Outside, she gathered both children in her arms. The sun felt warm. For a second, she imagined a life where they could stay like this—free from walking on eggshells, from fear. She kissed Lucy’s forehead, then Samuel’s.
Inside the house, the sound of Calvin’s footsteps thundered down the stairs.
Jessica inhaled slowly.
Another day had begun.
- Writer
