Aaron woke up feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. The apartment was still dim, the winter light slow to fill the rooms. Julia was already gone—her side of the bed cold, her coffee mug washed and placed upside down on the drying rack. She must have left early, earlier than usual. He wanted to believe it was because of work, but he didn’t know for sure.

He poured himself coffee, trying not to think too much about the quiet. He packed his lunch, grabbed his jacket, and headed out the door.

The sky was a pale gray when he pulled into the school parking lot. A few students were already waiting by the fence, backpacks hanging low, voices rising in the cool air. The normalcy of it helped steady him a little.

He stepped into his classroom, flipped on the lights, and started arranging the desks the way he liked them—slightly angled, not perfectly straight. Kids never noticed, but the small adjustment always made the room feel more open.

As he wrote the day’s agenda on the whiteboard, someone leaned against the doorway.

“You look like you slept twelve minutes,” Claire said.

Aaron turned, the marker still in his hand. Claire stood there with a travel mug, scarf wrapped twice around her neck, hair slightly frizzy from the cold. She had a softness about her—not timid, but gentle, the kind of presence that didn’t take energy from the room.

“Good morning to you too,” he said.

She tilted her head. “Am I wrong?”

Aaron capped the marker. “It was a long day yesterday.”

“Bad long or just long long?”

He exhaled. “Both, I think.”

Claire stepped into the room and set her mug on one of the desks. “Want to talk about it?”

He hesitated. He liked Claire. Not in a way that threatened anything—just in a way that made things easier. She listened without pressing. She didn’t expect him to have perfect answers. But he also didn’t want to unload too much. He wasn’t sure what crossed the line.

“Just house stuff,” he said. “Delays. More than we expected.”

Claire winced. “Oof. That’s rough.”

“Yeah.”

“And how’s Julia taking it?”

Aaron paused. “Not great.”

She nodded slowly, as if she’d expected that. “She was really excited about that place.”

“Yeah,” he said again, softer this time. “She was.”

Claire picked up her mug. “If you need help covering your reading groups this week, let me know. You look like you’re carrying ten things at once.”

Aaron smiled, grateful. “Thanks. I might take you up on that.”

The first bell rang, and the hallway filled with the rush of footsteps and voices. Claire pushed off the desk.

“Hang in there,” she said. “It’ll work out somehow. Houses and marriages are equally unpredictable.”

Aaron blinked. “That’s… oddly reassuring.”

She shrugged. “Life is chaos. Kids are chaos. Adults are just kids who pretend they have calendars.”

He laughed—really laughed, for the first time in days.

“See?” she said, pointing at him. “Still capable of smiling.”

The students poured in then, filling the room with noise and energy. Aaron slipped into teaching mode easily, guiding them through morning routines, exchanging jokes, reminding them to turn in missing assignments. It was familiar, predictable, the kind of stability his life outside of school lacked lately.

But during quiet work time, his thoughts slipped back to Julia. To the way she stood in front of the unfinished house yesterday. To the way she said she was tired of “figuring things out.” To the silence they shared that wasn’t peaceful.

He caught himself staring at the window again, lost.

“Mr. Blake?” a student asked. “Is this the right page?”

He blinked and looked down at the workbook. “Yep. That’s the one.”

The boy nodded and went back to his desk.

Aaron sat at his own table, rubbing his forehead. He needed to get his head together before the next class.

During recess duty, he stood by the field, watching kids chase each other across the grass. The weather was crisp, the kind that made every sound carry. Claire joined him a few minutes later.

“Your class survived spelling tests,” she said. “Miracle.”

“Barely.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder, not close enough to touch, but close enough that their breaths made two small clouds in the air.

Claire glanced at him. “You okay?”

Aaron swallowed. “I think so. Just a lot happening at once.”

“Do you and Julia talk about it?”

“We try,” he said. “But it’s hard lately. We’re both tired.”

Claire nodded. “Marriage under stress is like… trying to build Ikea furniture with someone you love. Impossible instructions, missing screws, resentment, and eventually someone cries.”

Aaron made a surprised sound that might have been half a laugh. “That’s… accurate.”

“But you’ll figure it out,” she added. “You two seem solid. You just need space or something to settle. It’ll come.”

He appreciated that she didn’t push. She didn’t ask for details or offer opinions about Julia. She just stood there, listening without invading.

The bell rang, and recess ended. They walked inside together, parting ways at the hall.

“Good luck with math period,” she said.

“I’ll need it,” he replied.

The rest of the day moved in small waves—students needing help, small conflicts to resolve, worksheets to grade. Aaron tried to keep his mind on task, but Julia kept slipping in between his thoughts. Where she was. How she was feeling. Whether she would want to talk tonight, or whether the quiet would stretch even longer.

After the final bell rang, Aaron straightened the desks while the last few kids trickled out. Claire stopped by his door again.

“You heading straight home?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I should.”

She gave him a small smile. “Tell Julia I hope things get better.”

“I will.”

She paused, then added gently, “And Aaron? Don’t carry all of it by yourself.”

He nodded, but the advice lingered long after she walked down the hall.

When he reached his car, the sky had turned a muted pink, almost peaceful. But his chest felt heavy anyway.

He texted Julia:  

Heading home. Do you need anything?

He waited. The three dots didn’t appear.  

Finally, she replied:

No. See you soon.

Aaron drove home slowly, taking the familiar turns, watching the fading daylight stretch across the streets.

When he walked into the apartment, Julia was at the table, laptop open, papers spread around her. She looked up, offered him a small tired smile, then went back to typing.

It wasn’t cold.  

It wasn’t warm either.  

It was something in between, something fragile.

Aaron hung up his jacket and sat across from her. “Long day?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He wanted to say more. Something comforting. Something real. But nothing came.

After a moment, she closed her laptop. “I’m going to shower.”

“Okay.”

She disappeared into the hallway, leaving him alone in the dim kitchen.

He leaned forward, hands clasped, elbows on his knees.

The day had been filled with noise, movement, conversation.

But this—  

this quiet between them—  

felt louder than anything else.