The next morning started earlier than either of them wanted. The alarm went off at the same time it always did, but it felt louder, like the sound had been sharpened overnight. Aaron reached for his phone to silence it, missing the button the first time. Julia stirred beside him, pulling the blanket closer as if she could hide from the day a little longer. Neither spoke.

Aaron sat up slowly. His back felt tight, the way it usually did when he’d slept through stress instead of resting. He glanced at Julia, wondering if he should say something about yesterday, about the house, about the long drive back when neither of them knew what to say. But her eyes were still closed, and he didn’t want to start another conversation that ended with both of them frustrated.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feet hitting the cold floor. The chill pushed him into motion. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and tried to ignore the dull ache sitting behind his eyes. When he came back into the bedroom, Julia was already standing by the closet, fully awake in that quick, efficient way she had on busy mornings. She didn’t look at him, not out of anger—more like she was saving her energy for the rest of the day.

“Do you need the bathroom?” he asked.

“I’ll use the other one,” she replied, already gathering her clothes.

It was such a small decision, using the guest bathroom instead of the one attached to their room, but it left a faint sting. Not painful, just noticeable. Like a reminder that something between them was slightly off balance.

Aaron headed to the kitchen, hoping the familiar steps of making coffee would calm him. He filled the machine, set out two mugs, and tried not to think too much. When Julia walked in a moment later, he felt his shoulders lift slightly. He wanted to say good morning in a way that didn’t sound mechanical, but the words stuck.

Julia grabbed a granola bar from the drawer and set it on the counter. “My meeting’s at nine,” she said quietly. “I need to leave early.”

“I can pack your lunch,” Aaron offered before thinking it through.

She shook her head quickly. “It’s fine. I’ll get something near the office.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He poured the coffee into the mugs. Julia stepped closer and reached for hers at the same time he set it down, their hands brushing for the briefest moment. It should have been nothing, completely normal, but it startled them both. Julia pulled back half a step. Aaron pretended not to notice.

She took a sip and winced. “It’s a little strong.”

“I can dilute it,” he said, moving toward the sink.

“It’s fine,” she repeated, taking a second sip anyway. “I’m just tired.”

Aaron nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

There was a pause—one of those awkward ones where both people know something should be said but neither wants to start a conversation that might turn heavy. Julia leaned on the counter, arms folded loosely, looking at the fridge door without really seeing it. Aaron watched her for a moment. The dark circles under her eyes weren’t something makeup could hide this morning.

He cleared his throat. “Do you want to talk about yesterday?”

Her jaw tightened, just enough for him to notice. “Not right now. I have too much to do today, and if we start talking, I’m going to be late.”

He nodded again, slower this time. “Okay. We can talk later.”

“Yeah,” she said, but her voice made it sound more like a possibility than a promise.

She walked to the hallway to grab her bag. Aaron followed a few steps behind, unsure if he should offer help or give her space. She reached for her shoes, slipping them on with practiced speed. He stood there, wanting to say something meaningful, something that would make the morning less tense.

“Do you want a ride?” he asked.

“I’ll take my car,” she said. “I might need to head straight to the site after work.”

“Right. Makes sense.”

She opened the door, hesitating only for a second. “Have a good day,” she said, finally looking at him.

“You too,” he replied.

Then she left.

The apartment felt too quiet without her. Not peaceful—just empty. Aaron exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck before turning back to the kitchen. He dumped the leftover coffee, washed the mugs, and packed his own lunch. The motions were familiar, grounding, but they didn’t do much to loosen the tension sitting in his chest.

He grabbed his jacket and keys, heading to the school. The drive was short, one he could do half-asleep. Today, he felt wide awake in the worst way. Every red light, every slow turn, every parked car reminded him of how stuck he felt.

At the school parking lot, he sat in the car for a moment longer than usual. He tried to reset his breathing, to focus on the students, the schedules, the lesson plans. Work was supposed to be the place where things made sense. Kids were predictable in their unpredictability. Problems were immediate and solvable. He liked that.

Inside the building, he was greeted by a couple of students from his homeroom. “Morning, Mr. Blake!” one of them said, waving a folder at him.

“Morning,” Aaron answered, forcing a smile. “Ready for the quiz today?”

“No,” the kid groaned, making him laugh despite himself.

The noise of the hallway helped. It felt alive, messy in a way that didn’t demand emotional precision. He walked into his classroom, set his bag down, and took a deep breath. The stillness of the room before students arrived always gave him a moment to gather himself.

A knock came from the doorway. Aaron turned to see Claire standing there, holding a stack of worksheets. She smiled in that soft, warm way she always did. “Rough morning?” she asked gently.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only because I know you,” she said. “You’re quieter than usual.”

He shrugged. “Just tired.”

Claire stepped inside, placing the worksheets on his desk. “If you need backup with the reading groups later, I’m free second period.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

She nodded, lingering for a moment. “If you ever want to talk, you know I won’t judge.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “Thanks.”

The bell rang, saving him from having to say more. Students started pouring in, filling the empty seats, filling the room with noise and presence. Aaron slipped into teacher mode easily, letting the routine take over. It helped. It always did.

But every now and then, when the kids were busy, his mind drifted back to the apartment, to the quiet kitchen, to the way Julia had avoided his eyes, to the feeling that something fragile between them had shifted overnight.

When lunch break finally came, he checked his phone. Nothing from her. No text, no missed call. He typed a message—*Hope your meeting goes okay*—then deleted it. Typed another—*Thinking about you*—and deleted that too. He put his phone face down on the table.

The rest of the day blurred into tasks and conversations and minor classroom chaos. By the time school ended, Aaron felt drained in a way that had nothing to do with teaching.

Walking to his car, he wondered what kind of version of home he’d be returning to today. The kind where they tiptoed around each other? The kind where they traded neutral sentences and avoided anything deeper? The kind where they kept pretending that tiredness was the only thing wrong?

He unlocked the door and sat behind the wheel. For a long moment, he didn’t start the engine. He just breathed.

Morning had felt like distance.

Afternoon felt like waiting.

He wasn’t sure which was worse.