Chapter 1: The Weight of Coming Home

Derek came back from Savannah, and all traces of his old wild streak and charm had vanished. He started tending to things around the house for real, moving with a focus that felt foreign.

He carried a heaviness now—the wild glint in his eyes was gone, his old sideways grins swapped for a quiet, almost mechanical sense of duty. He fixed the leaky faucet, unstuck the back door, replaced the porch light—always before I could even ask. But the way he moved through our home, it was like watching a stranger rehearsing a role, not a husband returning to his life.

He never mentioned that woman again, and everyone else acted like it had never happened either.

It was as if we’d all silently agreed to keep the secret. There were no more late-night phone calls, no more whispers about Savannah, and her name never surfaced at holiday dinners. Even my parents, who once sharpened their voices talking about "her," now pretended the past had vanished.

That is, until the day I got into it with the produce lady at the corner. The sticky Georgia heat pressed in as I stood frozen, the sharp scent of tomatoes and peaches mixing with the sting of her words. She spat out, "No wonder your husband bailed on your wedding day. If he could, he’d run back to Georgia just to get away from a loudmouth like you."

Her words slapped me, echoing off the sidewalk as shoppers turned to stare. My cheeks burned. Derek looked away, jaw clenched, his thumb rubbing the seam of his jeans like he wanted to disappear, while I cried until my eyes were swollen and red.

He stood there, hands buried in his worn jeans, eyes staring past the awnings and crates of peaches. The world pressed in, and he just let it happen. By the time we got home, I was shivering.

Once inside, I pulled him aside, my voice raw with hurt. I asked why he hadn’t stood up for me.

I tried to sound steady, but my words cracked. I waited for a sign—a look, a touch, something to show I mattered. Instead, he seemed far away, like I was talking to him through a pane of glass.

Derek rubbed his brow, exhaustion shadowing his face.

He let out a long sigh and leaned against the kitchen counter, rubbing his eyes the way he did after a long drive.

He looked at me. "Natalie, I already came back. Isn’t that enough?"

His words landed hard, heavy with a tired resignation that hurt worse than any angry shout.