Wednesday, 8:47pm
He said he'd call after the gym. It's been two hours.
Zoe's internal monologue:
"He always does this. Says he will and then doesn't. Maybe I'm just not a priority. Couples who actually care about each other don't have to keep having this conversation. Maybe this is just who he is. Maybe this is just who we are."
She rehearses the conversation she'll have with him. Then a softer version. Then a version where she doesn't bring it up at all and just carries it quietly.
He fell asleep on the couch after the gym. He calls at 10. She answers warm. She feels cold.
This is anxious attachment doing what it does — filling silence with threat.
Friday night
They're at dinner. He's distracted. Phone keeps buzzing.
Zoe's internal monologue:
"He'd rather be anywhere else. I can feel it. I'm talking too much. I'm too much. He used to look at me differently — I know he did. Something has shifted and he doesn't want to tell me."
She gets quieter. He notices. Asks if she's okay. She says yes.
She isn't.
He was distracted because his work group chat had been going all day. He's been stressed for weeks. He hasn't known how to say it.
This is mind reading — and it cost them both the evening.
Sunday morning
He's in a great mood. Making coffee, playing music, totally relaxed.
Zoe's internal monologue:
"Why can't I just enjoy this? Something's wrong with me. Normal people don't spend a whole good morning waiting for it to go wrong. He's happy right now and I'm already grieving it ending. What is my problem?"
She smiles. She laughs at the right moments. She's somewhere else entirely.
This is the cruelest one — anxiety stealing the good moments too.
Three moments. Three losses.
The Wednesday call she couldn't receive.
The Friday dinner that slipped away.
The Sunday morning she couldn't stay in.
The thought that never came:
"I'm safe here."
"I don't have to solve this right now."
"That's the anxiety talking, not the relationship."
What if those thoughts were available to her?