The connection Lia shared with Adam grew deeper with each call and each text they sent back and forth. It wasn’t intentional, at least not at first. The conversations, the late-night calls, the texts that lingered on her screen, they became a rhythm, a routine she both dreaded and craved. But as much as she leaned on him, she began to feel the weight of her double life pulling her apart.
One afternoon, as Lia sat at her desk, her phone buzzed with a message from Adam: “When was the last time you did something just for yourself?”
The question stung, though she wasn’t sure why. She stared at the screen for a long moment. She wanted to dismiss his question, to keep their conversations light. But the truth in it unsettled her, striking a chord she wasn’t ready to face. It irked her that he could disrupt her little moments of contentment with one pointed question. It was as if he knew exactly when and how to grab her heart and command her attention. Finally, she replied: “I don’t remember.”
His response came quickly: “Then it’s time you did. Take the evening. Go somewhere. Clear your head. You deserve that much.”
He had a way of seeing through her, of knowing when she needed to stop and breathe. She wanted to follow his advice, but her life felt too tangled to unravel, even for a moment. Still, the thought lingered.
That evening, Lia drove to the edge of town, her car following winding roads until she reached the park Adam had described before. She parked and stepped out, the cool air biting at her skin. Massive oak trees stretched overhead, their bare branches forming a lattice against the twilight sky. The crisp air was sharp in her lungs, and the rustle of leaves beneath her boots seemed louder in the stillness, like the park itself was holding its breath. For a moment, she just stood there, the weight of her thoughts pressing against her.
As she walked the narrow path, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw Adam’s name on the screen. She cursed. Of course, he’d call now. She hesitated for a moment, but the took the call. She wanted to hear his voice. Needed a part of him with her right there and then. Before he could say something, she blurted out that she was at the park.
“I didn’t think you’d actually go,” he said when she answered, his voice warm and surprised.
“Neither did I,” she admitted, her breath forming small clouds in the air. “But you’re right. I needed this.”
“What do you see?” he asked, his voice softer now.
She glanced around, taking in the stark beauty of the trees and the colourful horizon. “A place that feels like it belongs to someone else’s story,” she said. “It’s quiet. Peaceful. Like it’s been waiting for me to show up.”
Adam was silent for a moment before he said, “Maybe it’s been waiting for both of us.”
She leaned against a nearby tree, the rough bark grounding her as the connection between them filled the silence. Her chest tightened at the quiet intimacy of his words.
But peace was fleeting. When Lia returned home, her partner’s eyes narrowed as she walked through the door. “Where were you?” he asked, his voice sharp.
“I just needed some air,” she said quickly, brushing past him. “It’s been a long day.”
“Is that why you’ve been on edge lately?” he pressed. “Because it feels like there’s more to it than that, Lia.”
His words hung in the air, unspoken accusations weaving into the silence. She forced a calm smile, though her hands trembled as she set down her bag. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice steady but distant. “I just needed to clear my head.”
“I don’t know what you need anymore, Lia. You are here, but you aren’t. And honestly, I don’t know if I want to live like this. I am here, dammit, where are you?” His tone was clipped, each word heavy with suspicion, and she felt the delicate balance of her dual lives tilt dangerously close to collapse. He turned and left her standing there, a myriad of thoughts were torturing her. He didn’t say anything more, but the tension in the room was still palpable after he had left. Lia retreated to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She leaned against the sink, her hands gripping the edges as she stared at her reflection. Her reflection stared back at her, hollow and distant, as if the woman she used to be had been smothered beneath layers of guilt and longing, too far away to reach. The guilt that had been simmering for weeks threatened to boil over.
Her phone buzzed on the counter, Adam’s name lighting up the screen.
“Thank you for letting me be a part of your evening. I hope it gave you some peace.”
Lia stared at the message. She typed a response, but then deleted it. Instead, she turned off her phone and slid it into her pocket, her reflection in the mirror staring back at her with a mix of sadness and resolve.
The following days passed in a blur. Lia tried to focus on her work, her family, her routine. But the tension with her partner lingered, unspoken but present in every glance, every word exchanged. And Adam’s absence from her inbox felt like an ache she couldn’t soothe. It was her choice to shut him out, her own choice to not respond to his calls or his messages. It didn’t make her miss him less though, no she missed him more with every passing hour of the day.
That was until a simple message illuminated the screen of her phone that she considered replying: “Are you okay?”
Lia hesitated before responding. “I don’t know.”
The phone rang almost immediately. She answered on the first ring.
“Lia,” Adam said, his voice steady but concerned. “Talk to me.”
She closed her eyes, her breath trembling as she tried to find the words. “I’m trying, Adam. To hold it all together. To be what everyone needs me to be. But I feel like I’m failing.”
“You’re not failing,” he said firmly. “You’re human. And you don’t have to carry it all alone. Let me be the one thing you don’t have to carry.”
Her throat tightened at his words, and for the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to cry. The sound of his breathing on the other end steadied her, grounding her as she let the tears fall.
“Thank you,” she whispered finally.
“For what?”
“For being here.”
Adam was quiet for a moment before he said, “Always, Lia. Always.”
reflections of an unquiet mind 