Chapter Twenty-Two

OUR LANCE AND THE DIVA

 

IN THE WEEKS FOLLOWING THANKSGIVING there was a shift. Weston wasn’t home much, which wasn’t a surprise, but what was a surprise was the change in him. It was barely noticeable at first, but after two weeks of waning affection, I began to feel like a guest who’d overstayed their welcome.

The stress on Weston grew worse with each passing day. One of his project timelines had practically derailed, and others were on the verge. Add in the stress of Natalie’s continuous presence, and a rift began to divide us.

His mood soured with each day, leaking into our home life, infecting it. Constantly pissed, he would snap at me for no apparent reason, sometimes apologizing, sometimes not. It seemed like we were barely communicating at all. When I did call him, it either went to voicemail, or a quick “Wren, I can’t talk, call you back,” and then no call. Texts were answered, but short, three or four words. Loneliness settled in, and I didn’t know when or if it woul