Aaron didn’t expect to hear from David so soon, which was why the message surprised him. It came just after lunch, buzzed against the edge of his desk, and appeared on his phone with a simple line:

Can you both come to the site this afternoon? Need to discuss timeline.

He stared at it for a few seconds before typing back:  

Yes. What time?

David answered right away:  

Anytime after 4.

Aaron knew the wording was deliberate. David rarely bothered with formality. If he said “discuss timeline,” something was definitely wrong. And after yesterday, after everything Julia had already pushed through, the timing couldn’t be worse.

He texted Julia:  

David wants us at the site after 4. Says it’s about the timeline.

Her reply was nearly instant:  

I can be there.

No punctuation. No emotion. Nothing added, nothing softened.

He spent the rest of the afternoon trying to focus on work, but every task stretched longer than it should have. He misread a lesson plan, forgot where he put a stack of handouts, and caught himself staring at the same set of student drawings without moving. By the time the last dismissal bell rang, he felt drained in the way only constant anticipation could drain someone.

Julia arrived at the site five minutes before he did. She was leaning against her car, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the house as if it were something she was trying to decode. Aaron parked beside her and approached slowly.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she answered without looking at him. “Let’s just go.”

They walked toward the house together, though it didn’t feel together at all. Their steps didn’t match. Their arms didn’t brush. It was only physical proximity, nothing more.

David stood near the porch, helmet on, clipboard tucked under one arm. When he saw them, he let out a long breath, as if preparing for something.

“Thanks for coming,” he said.

“What’s going on?” Julia asked immediately.

David opened the clipboard and tapped a page. “I’ll keep this straightforward. We’re officially behind schedule. The estimated completion is being pushed back six to eight weeks.”

Julia’s jaw tightened. “Six to eight weeks from the original date?”

David hesitated. “From today.”

That changed everything.

Aaron felt his stomach drop.

Julia’s voice stayed level, but barely. “Why wasn’t this communicated sooner?”

David shifted his weight. “We didn’t have final confirmation until today.”

“David,” Julia said, lowering her voice, “we were here yesterday. You knew.”

“I didn’t have the numbers yet.”

“You knew,” she repeated, not louder, but more certain.

Aaron glanced between them. Julia wasn’t angry in a dramatic way—she was angry in the way someone gets when they’ve been holding everything together for too long.

“What’s causing the delay?” Aaron asked, trying to keep things steady.

“Multiple things,” David said. “Material shortages. Electrical inspections running behind. A subcontractor walked off this week. And the other side of the development needs regrading before we can finish your lot.”

Julia blinked once. “And none of this came up in the weekly updates?”

David inhaled slowly. “Julia… weekly updates are more of a… general progress summary. Not every detail gets included.”

“So the important details don’t get included,” she said.

David didn’t respond.

She stepped closer. “We planned our lives around this timeline. I rearranged my work schedule. We budgeted everything based on the original date. You told us it was doable.”

“And we thought it was,” David said. “But things change fast on site.”

“That’s not an explanation,” she said.

David’s voice softened, but not in a comforting way—more like he was trying to avoid escalating anything. “Look, I get why you’re frustrated. I’m frustrated too. But I’m being honest: this is where we are.”

Julia let out a breath that wasn’t quite a sigh, wasn’t quite a laugh. “Honest would’ve been telling us before everything fell apart.”

Aaron felt the tension in the air move between them, gathering weight. He wanted to place a hand on Julia’s arm, to anchor her, but he didn’t know if she would pull away.

“Is there anything we can do?” Aaron asked.

“Not really,” David said. “We’re pushing as hard as we can, but there’s only so much control we have right now.”

Julia stared at the house, at the unfinished porch, at the plastic sheet still flapping like it had been waiting for this exact moment to make things worse.

“We’ll be in touch,” David added before walking away.

Julia didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Aaron finally asked, “Do you want to head home?”

She kept her eyes on the house. “I just want to leave.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

They walked back to their cars. Opposite directions, same parking lot. It felt symbolic.

At the driver’s side door, Julia paused. “I’ll meet you at home,” she said.

“Drive safe,” Aaron replied.

She nodded once and left.

The drive home was quiet in the slow, heavy way that made Aaron’s chest feel tight. The sunlight was still warm, but it didn’t feel warm inside the car. He played the radio for noise, but it only made the silence louder.

When he got home, Julia’s car was already outside. Inside the apartment, she stood in the kitchen, staring at the counter the way she had stared at the house.

He stepped inside gently. “Julia—”

“It’s a joke,” she said quietly. “All of it. We saved for years. We made sacrifices. We planned everything. And they treat us like none of that matters.”

Aaron swallowed. “I know.”

“No,” she said softly, “I don’t think you do.”

He felt the words hit harder than she meant them to.

She didn’t continue. She walked to the living room and sat on the couch. Not dramatically. Just… tired.

Aaron sat beside her, leaving a respectful amount of space. “We’ll figure it out,” he said.

Julia shook her head lightly. “I’m so tired of figuring things out.”

He didn’t have an answer.

The silence stretched. Not sharp. Not hostile. Just long.

He looked at her hands resting on her lap, fingers curled slightly toward her palms like she was holding onto something invisible. He wondered if she even knew she was doing it.

“Do you want me to make dinner?” he asked.

“I’m not hungry.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

Another quiet minute passed.

She leaned back into the couch and closed her eyes. Not to sleep, but to retreat. To rest somewhere inside herself where nothing demanded anything from her.

Aaron sat there, unsure of his place. Unsure whether to comfort her or leave her alone. Unsure if either choice was right.

Eventually, she said, “I just need a little time.”

He nodded again, even though she didn’t see it. “Take whatever you need.”

Julia opened her eyes briefly. “It’s not about you. I just… don’t have the energy right now.”

“I understand,” he said quietly.

But he didn’t.

Not fully.

The rest of the evening moved slowly. Julia stayed on the couch. Aaron made something simple to eat, though he barely tasted it. The apartment felt too big, even though it was small. The silence grew heavier as the sun went down.

Later, when Julia finally stood and said she was going to bed early, Aaron watched her disappear down the hallway. He stayed in the living room a while longer, staring at the muted TV screen.

The house wasn’t the only thing delayed.

Something between them was too.