Chapter 6: The Moment I Dreaded

Nothing had changed.

The radio in the background still played the same old folk songs, and the shop’s register clattered with every sale. I breathed in the familiar air, letting it settle my nerves.

Opposite was the pretty river, a line of egrets flying slowly by. It was May in Georgia.

The willows trailed in the current, their reflections rippling. It was hot, the kind of sticky Southern afternoon where the world moved slow and lazy.

The smell of coffee lingered. I buried myself in sketching, and when tired, I propped my head on my hand and drew a few egrets.

The paper grew crowded with long-legged birds, swooping and gliding across the page. My hand moved on its own, lost in the old rhythm.

No one disturbed me. Gradually, I calmed my messy feelings.

The sounds of the world faded to a hush—just pencil on paper, my breathing slowing, my heartbeat finding an easy pace again.

This was originally a little secret of mine as a child. Whenever I was sad or upset, I would rest here for a while.

I’d hide out in the back corner, sketching until my problems shrank, the world outside the window quiet and manageable.

I loved drawing and painting, but Derek didn’t like it. He said I was boring, sitting for hours without moving.

His words echoed in my head, sharp and dismissive. I’d always hoped he’d understand, but he never tried.

Grandma Carol secretly told me he liked archery and horseback riding, and told me to try to please him.

She’d clipped out articles from the local paper—"Derek wins county archery meet"—and urged me to take lessons, hoping I could bridge the gap between us.

So, after a moment’s hesitation, she helped me throw out all the sketches and paintings in my room.

It felt like erasing a part of myself, but I let her do it, hoping he’d notice, hoping he’d care.

But it was useless. My hands had calluses from practicing, yet Derek still treated me coldly and distantly.

The bows and boots and blisters earned me nothing but a polite nod. My sketchbooks, once filled, now gathered dust in the attic.

“Trying to be someone you’re not.”

The words stung, but they were true. I’d never been her. I never would be.

I understood then—what he liked wasn’t archery and horseback riding, but the girl who did those things.

It was never about the hobbies. It was always about the heart behind them, and mine never quite measured up.

Ink spread on the paper, and I realized my hands were trembling so much I couldn’t hold the pen.

I pressed the heel of my hand to the table, taking a shaky breath. The tremor wouldn’t stop. I blinked away the tears.

Outside the shop, a burst of silver fireworks exploded, sparks flying, lighting up the whole window.

It must’ve been a birthday party at the park. Kids squealed, the air alive with laughter and the crackle of fireworks.

I snapped out of it. The sky was already dark. Remembering Lily, I got up to leave.

I packed my things quickly, guilt prickling as I realized how late it had gotten.

The shopkeeper, as usual, tried to give me a little envelope of cash.

He held it out, polite and persistent. “For your drawings, ma’am.”

I quickly declined, smiling bitterly. “My drawings aren’t as good as before. How can I take your money?”

My voice caught, the truth bitter on my tongue.

He insisted, “This is from the owner. Please take it.”

He pressed the envelope into my palm, his smile gentle. “He always said your work brought luck.”

I was startled and, after a long while, finally asked,

I stared at the envelope, heart pounding. “Did he come today?”

“No, the owner hasn’t come in a long time.”

He shook his head, voice soft with regret. “But he always asks after you.”

I lowered my eyes and left, wandering aimlessly down the street, when I unexpectedly saw Derek in a suit.

His jacket slung over one shoulder, tie loosened, hair mussed from the humidity. He looked out of place, too formal for our little town.

Several people pulled him, laughing, “Derek, are you whipped? Even going out for a drink, you worry.”

His old friends from high school, their faces flushed from beer, jostled him as they teased.

He pursed his lips and said nothing. Looking up, he happened to see me and was a little surprised.

For a moment, our eyes met across the crowd, the rest of the world fading away.

Someone shouted, “Hey, Mrs. Chandler really did come to fetch him.”

The words echoed, a little too loud, making me flush. I fumbled with the strap of my purse, searching for something to say.

I opened my mouth, wanting to explain.

I wanted to say I wasn’t here for him, that it was just a coincidence, but the words stuck in my throat.

Derek dusted off his jacket, the corners of his mouth showing a faint smile, and strode over to me.

His steps were quick, purposeful, and for the first time in a long while, he looked almost happy to see me.

“Let’s go.”

He reached for my hand, his grip warm and insistent, guiding me away from the noise.

Those people could only shrug and disperse. “No choice, Derek’s a good guy and loves his wife. Not like us.”

Their laughter faded as we walked away, leaving behind the scent of spilled beer and fried onions from the food trucks.

Someone was bold, “Why not bring your wife out for a drink next time?”

He clicked his tongue, raised his leg, and lightly kicked the one who spoke.

They all burst out laughing, slapping each other on the back. Derek just shook his head, half-smiling.

“Cut it out.”

The words were playful, more relaxed than I’d heard him in years.

The night market downtown was bustling, packed with people.

Strings of lights hung from the trees, the air thick with music and laughter, vendors calling out over the din. I felt small and safe, tucked into the crowd beside him.

Derek frowned slightly and unconsciously tightened his grip on my hand.

His thumb rubbed small circles over my knuckles, a silent apology. I tried to ignore the flutter in my chest.

The warmth from his hand made me uncomfortable. I wanted to pull away, but his grip tightened.

He glanced at me, lips pressed together, unwilling to let go, as if afraid I’d disappear into the crowd.

He softened his tone. “You don’t need to come fetch me in the future. I’ll come home when I’m done.”

His voice was low, almost tender. I looked away, cheeks burning.

“I’m not…”

I started to protest, but the words faded as a vendor called out to us.

“Hey there, how about some fresh cucumbers for your wife? Keeps you cool in this heat!”

A small, wiry woman with a toothy grin waved a basket in front of us, her eyes sharp and knowing.

Derek turned to look at me, carefully picking some out.

He inspected each cucumber, turning them in his hands before settling on the best. “These will do. Keep the change.”

“Alright, wish you a happy family and lots of kids.”

The vendor winked, bagging the produce with a flourish, her blessings ringing above the crowd.

Tonight, his gaze was a bit gentler, and he asked me in a good mood,

His eyes searched mine, soft in the glow of the market lights. “Is there anything else you want to eat? We can go home later tonight.”

I looked up at him, knowing in my heart that this was his way of apologizing.

His eyes lingered on mine, almost pleading, his hand squeezing just a little tighter. The sadness inside me welled up, too big to swallow.

A wave of sadness and discomfort welled up inside me.

I forced my lips into a smile, but it faltered at the edges. My heart ached for what we’d never quite been.

Thinking of Grandma Carol, of Lily, or maybe of Derek himself.

The picture of our family flashed before my eyes—Sunday pancakes, homework at the kitchen table, bedtime stories. I clung to it, desperate.

Each of us was doing our best to keep up this peaceful front.

We performed our parts, holding it together for Lily, for the neighbors, for ourselves. The whole world seemed to be watching, waiting for us to slip.

Otherwise, if a storm ever broke, the whole thing would fall apart.

We were all walking on eggshells, terrified of the cracks beneath the surface.

I forced a gentle smile. “I haven’t visited my folks in a long time.”

I tried to sound casual, as if I wasn’t asking for more than a simple family outing.

“It’s too late tonight. Tomorrow, could you take Lily and come with me?”

I held my breath, waiting for him to refuse, but he just nodded, quick and relieved.

A trace of relief flashed in Derek’s eyes, and he agreed right away.

His smile was small, grateful, as if I’d thrown him a lifeline.

He was grateful that I took this step as well, keeping the peace on the surface.

I felt him squeeze my hand, and for a moment, I almost believed in us again.

The two of us, as if reconciled, held hands and went home. Grandma Carol was holding Lily, a picture of harmony.

The porch light glowed warm, the house alive with laughter and the smell of home. To the neighbors, we looked perfect.

After saying goodnight, I went back to my room.

I closed the door behind me, letting the smile slip away as I crawled into bed, heart pounding.

Under the covers, tears flowed endlessly until I felt suffocated.

I pressed my face into the pillow, sobbing quietly so no one would hear. The ache was deep and unyielding.

Believe him one more time, endure one more time, pretend nothing ever happened again…

I whispered the words over and over, hoping if I said them enough, I’d make them true.

Keep pretending to be deaf and blind, sharing a bed but dreaming different dreams—it made me want to scream.

The thought clawed at my insides, raw and desperate. I bit the pillow, stifling the scream that wanted to tear free.

I covered my ears and let out an unbearable sob.

The sound was muffled, but in my head it was deafening. I clung to the comforter, riding the wave of misery.

I comforted myself: it’s alright, it’s alright, this is the last time.

I breathed in and out, counting each breath, promising myself things would change tomorrow.

There won’t be a next time, I murmured as I fell asleep.

The words tasted like ashes, but I forced myself to believe them. Just one more night.

But fate is always so unpredictable.

Even the best-laid plans crumble in the face of the unexpected. I should have known better.

The 'next time' came very soon.

It was a Saturday, the air thick with the promise of summer storms. I tried to steel myself, but the dread grew with every mile.

Standing at my parents’ door, my elderly mom and dad greeted us with smiles. Derek held my hand in one and Lily’s in the other.

My mom’s eyes crinkled with pride, my dad clapped Derek on the shoulder, the world righting itself for just a moment as we stood there, united.

Several carts of gifts were sent; he gave me plenty of face.

He unloaded boxes of fruit, cakes, and specialty foods, charming my parents, playing the part of the perfect son-in-law.

Just then, from a distance, a dusty girl in red shouted,

Her voice cut through the crowd, sharp and urgent, the air around us thickening with the weight of old secrets.

“Danny!”

His previously calm and composed expression instantly froze, and the hand holding mine trembled violently.

I felt the tremor run through him, his pulse beating wildly under my fingers. For a moment, it was just the two of us—then everything else faded away.

In this world, only one person would call him that.

My heart turned cold. So many people at the door, it felt like I was back at that unbearable wedding six years ago.

The world spun, the front yard shrinking to a tunnel. My knees shook. I clung to Lily’s hand, barely breathing.

It’s happening again, it’s happening again.

I tasted bile, panic rising in my throat. My chest tightened, old wounds tearing open, raw and bleeding.

“Please, don’t…”

My voice was barely more than a whisper, lost in the commotion. But before I could finish, Derek quickly shook me off and ran toward that girl.

He let go of my hand—no hesitation, no backward glance—and the space where his warmth had been turned cold. The world blurred at the edges, the porch spinning beneath my feet. I tasted copper, heart pounding, as the past crashed back into the present. This was the moment I’d always dreaded—and it had come for me, again.