Aaron Blake had never been good at hiding tension, and the drive into Brookhaven Ridge made it even harder. The farther the road curved toward the new suburb, the quieter he became. He kept both hands on the wheel, thumbs tapping a rhythm that had nothing to do with the music playing softly on the radio. The morning sun was bright, too bright, the kind that revealed every small flaw on the windshield. In a way, it felt like the light was doing the same to him.

Julia sat beside him, scrolling through emails on her phone. She wasn’t looking at him, not really, but he could feel her frustration like heat in the car. Their conversations lately had turned into something that resembled negotiations more than anything else. He had hoped today would feel better, that driving toward the place meant to be their new home would reset something. But Julia’s silence wasn’t hopeful; it was tight, stretched, brittle. He didn’t know how to break it without making it worse.

Brookhaven Ridge appeared over the next slope: rows of matching roofs, pale siding, and lawns that were still more dirt than grass. The homes all had the same look—new, clean, slightly too perfect. It was the kind of place that existed in real estate brochures. Maybe that was the reason Julia had fallen in love with it the first time they toured the model home. He remembered how she walked around touching the counters and built-in shelves, imagining how her design ideas could fill the empty spaces. He remembered thinking her eyes looked brighter than the recessed lighting.

Today, she didn’t look at the houses at all.

He parked beside their new lot—Lot 47, the one with the beige siding and a front porch that wasn’t fully painted. A construction cone sat crooked on the walkway, and the grass looked patchy where it should have been green and ready. A plastic sheet flapped loudly from the side door, slapping the frame each time the wind changed.

Julia finally lifted her head. “They didn’t fix that door,” she said, her voice flat.

“The project manager said they’d finish it this week,” Aaron replied, though he wasn’t sure why he bothered. The sentence sounded weak even to him.

Julia got out of the car without another word. Her heels hit the pavement sharply as she walked straight toward the porch. Aaron followed a few steps behind, wishing he knew what the right thing to say was. Every time he tried to solve a problem for her lately, it only made her angry. Every time he stayed silent, she assumed he didn’t care. He felt caught between the two versions of himself—too passive or too intrusive. Neither seemed to be working.

The front door stuck before it finally gave way. Inside, the smell of sawdust hit them immediately. The living room was technically finished, but only in the sense that someone had checked off a box. The floorboards were dusty, the trim paint looked rushed, and a single work lamp had been left in the corner. It flickered like it couldn’t decide whether it was even part of this house.

“This was supposed to be done,” Julia said, walking across the room, her steps leaving faint marks in the dust. “They sent me an email. They said—”

“I know,” Aaron said carefully. “Maybe we can call David again.”

Her eyes flashed. Not anger at him—anger at everything. “I’ve already called him three times this week. He keeps saying they’re behind because they’re short-staffed. That’s not my problem, Aaron. We did everything right. We signed everything. We paid everything. Why can’t they just finish what they promised?”

He didn’t know. He wished he did.

He walked toward her slowly. “I’m not defending them. I just… I think we should talk to him again and—”

“Talk,” she repeated, almost laughing. “Talking hasn’t fixed anything.”

Aaron stopped moving.

She placed both hands on the kitchen counter, the one she had chosen in a sample room months ago. White quartz. Polished edges. It was supposed to be the centerpiece of the home she imagined—clean lines, warm lighting, open space. Now she just stared at it like she wasn’t sure she recognized it anymore.

“We were supposed to move in next month,” she said. “I already requested time off. I already told my clients. I told my mom. I told everyone we were finally getting our place.” She looked up at him, and her voice softened. “I really wanted this, Aaron. I wanted something to work.”

He felt the words hit him harder than they should have. Something to work. As if nothing in their life lately had.

Before he could respond, the back door opened and slammed against the frame. David walked in wearing a reflective vest and holding a clipboard. His expression froze the moment he saw them.

“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t expect you two today.”

Julia crossed her arms. “Clearly.”

David shifted awkwardly. “We’ve had some delays. I was going to call—”

“When?” Julia asked. “Before or after the next deadline you’re going to miss?”

Aaron took a small step toward her. “Julia—”

But she didn’t need him to calm her. She wasn’t yelling. She was steady, pointed, sharp in a way he recognized from the moments when she cared too much to be polite.

David rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re doing what we can. Materials came late. Two workers quit last week. Permit issues with the other side of the street. It’s been a mess.”

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said automatically.

Julia turned to him, disbelief in her eyes. “Why are you apologizing?”

He didn’t have an answer.

David cleared his throat. “Look, I can talk to the contractor again. I’ll get you an updated timeline by the end of the day.”

“You said that last week,” Julia reminded him.

“And the week before,” Aaron added quietly.

David exhaled slowly. “I know. I know. I’ll try again.”

When he left through the back door, the plastic sheet slapped the frame again, louder this time. The sound filled the space between them.

Julia leaned against the counter. “I can’t keep pretending this is fine.”

Aaron looked at her, really looked at her. The woman who used to stay up designing imaginary spaces for fun. The woman who could walk into an empty room and see a future inside it. Now all he saw was someone exhausted, carrying weight he didn’t know how to lift.

“I’m not pretending,” he said. “I just… I don’t know how to make this easier.”

Her voice softened again, but it wasn’t comforting. It was resigned. “I don’t think you’re supposed to fix it, Aaron. I just don’t want to feel like I’m the only one fighting for the life we said we wanted.”

The sentence stayed in the air for a long moment.

He didn’t know how to answer without breaking something.

Outside, another construction truck rumbled by. The walls vibrated slightly, like the house itself wasn’t sure it could stand.

Julia turned away first. “Let’s go. I have work in an hour.”

He followed her out of the house, locking the unfinished door behind them even though he knew it didn’t matter. When he got into the car, he watched her buckle her seatbelt with quick, practiced movements. The kind she used when she was trying not to feel anything.

He started the engine. The radio played the same song as before. This time, neither of them pretended to listen.

As they pulled out of the neighborhood, he glanced once in the rearview mirror at the house. Lot 47 stood quiet, unfinished, waiting. It looked nothing like the future they had imagined.

He wondered, just for a moment, if they still had time to build one anyway.