I didn’t sleep much, just dozed on and off. Kept checking to make sure she was still breathing. Still okay. The house creaked and settled around us. The fridge hummed from the kitchen. A dog barked somewhere down the street. Normal sounds in a night that felt anything but normal. I thought about Emma, about what I tell her when she asked how her mom was doing.
I thought about Rachel and how someone could be with a person for 23 years and still feel invisible. I thought about my own life, my own relationship, whether I was paying enough attention or if I was sleepwalking through it the way David apparently had. Mostly though, I just sat there in the dark watching Rachel sleep and feeling like something important was happening, even if I didn’t understand what yet.
I woke up to Rachel standing in the kitchen doorway watching me sleep. And for a second, neither of us said anything. Light was coming through the windows, soft and gray. Must have been around 7. She had her arms crossed, hair messy, eyes still puffy but less wild than the night before. “You snore,” she said, almost smiling.
“I sat up in the recliner, my neck stiff from the weird angle I’d been sleeping at. “That’s a lie,” I said, rubbing my face. She actually laughed, “Qiet but real, and it felt like a small victory after everything. I made coffee,” she said, disappearing back into the kitchen. I followed her, my body aching from the chair. The coffee was strong and black, steam rising from two mugs she’d sat on the counter.
We stood there drinking it in silence. Both of us avoiding the elephant in the room, which was what happens now. What this day looks like, whether I should leave or stay, Rachel spoke first. I don’t want to be in this house today, she said, staring into her mug. Every corner reminds me of him, and I can’t think straight here.
Where do you want to go? I asked. She shrugged. Anywhere. Nowhere. Just not here. So, we left. Didn’t even finish the coffee. Just grabbed our shoes and walked out the front door like we were escaping something. My truck was still in the driveway and we climbed in without a plan. I started driving south. No destination, just following roads that looked less crowded.
She rolled down her window and let the wind hit her face, eyes closed, breathing deep like she was trying to fill her lungs with something other than the stale air of her life. We ended up at the state park about 40 minutes outside the city place called Sweetwater Creek. I’d been there once with some buddies to hike, but that was years ago.
The parking lot was almost empty, just a couple cars belonging to serious hikers who probably got there at dawn. We walked the trail without talking much at first. The path was dirt and rocks winding through thick trees that blocked out most of the sky. You could hear the creek rushing somewhere below. Birds making noise above, but mostly it was just our footsteps and breathing.
Rachel looked different out here. Less like someone’s mom or someone’s abandoned wife. More like just a person trying to figure things out. About 20 minutes and we reached this overlook where you could see the whole creek spread out below. Water moving fast over big gray rocks. Trees on both sides making it feel like we’d stepped into a different world.
She stood at the edge of the wooden railing and I hung back a few feet giving her space. I used to be fun, she said suddenly, not turning around. Before David, before Emma, before the mortgage and the PDA meetings and the dinner parties where everyone pretends their marriage is perfect. I was the girl who stayed out too late and said yes to things without planning every detail.
