Pitied, Not Desired

Jerica swallowed hard. "Careless?" The accusation stung.

Did he really think she'd been reckless on purpose? "I didn't… I wasn't thinking clearly." Her voice was barely a whisper, but there was an edge of defensiveness creeping in.

How could he see her lying there, vulnerable, and the first thought that crossed his mind was that she tried to kill herself? Did he really think she couldn't get over her family's death after all these years? If summer was so difficult for her, why wasn't he by her side instead of accusing her? Why was this the moment he chose to raise his voice at her, when he'd never shouted like this before? Was she that fragile in his eyes? Was he mocking her?

"I know I shouldn't have," she said, her voice shaking now. "But why are you yelling at me like this? I almost drowned, Jared, and all you can do is blame me?"

Jared looked as though she'd slapped him. His jaw tightened, and for a second, she saw something flicker in his eyes—hurt, fear, regret. But just as quickly, that softness disappeared, replaced by frustration once more. "Blaming you?" he snapped, his voice harsh again. "I come home, and the first thing I see is you, lifeless in the f*cking water. You think I should just calmly deal with that?"

She flinched, pulling the robe tighter around her trembling body. Her eyes burned, but she refused to let the tears spill. Jared's anger was always a slow burn, but right now, it felt like it was aimed directly at her heart.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, though she wasn't sure what she was apologizing for anymore—her carelessness or the fact that her near-death experience had made him angry rather than relieved.

As she brushed past him, her shoulder grazing his chest, she could feel the tension radiating off of him. Jared's gaze followed her, a mixture of disbelief and worry clouding his face. They'd never fought like this before—not once in four years of marriage. And now, on their anniversary, of all nights, they were unraveling in the most painful way possible.

Jared exhaled a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, but he couldn't shake the image of her in the water, motionless, unresponsive. The dread sat heavy in his gut. His heart was still pounding, racing from the moment he found her like that. She was his everything—his anchor in the chaos of his life. What would he do if something ever happened to her? The very thought of losing her terrified him to his core.

Jerica moved to the closet, her hands shaking as she searched for something to change into. Jared hovered by the door, watching her, his eyes dark with worry. She didn't know if he was there to make sure she wouldn't try "it" again, or if he was simply too shaken to leave her side.

"I have to change," she said quietly, as she untied the robe. She didn't care if he was staring. What did it matter? He wasn't going to see her body the way he used to. She'd gone stale in his eyes—a fragile thing to be pitied, not desired.

Jared didn't blink. His gaze was intense, studying her like he was searching for something—some sign that she was still there, that the woman he married wasn't slipping away. "Should I call a doctor? Are you feeling better now? Any trouble breathing?"

Jerica scoffed, pulling on her nightwear with her back to him. His concern felt hollow. Was he asking because he cared or because he felt responsible? The thought that he saw her as this fragile creature—someone who might harm herself—made her chest tighten with a mix of anger and hurt.

She brushed past him again and went to the vanity, starting her nightly skincare routine. Jared stood there for a while, watching her in silence before eventually walking out of the room. She didn't know if he was giving her space or simply didn't know what to say.

Jerica finished at the vanity, her movements robotic. She was too drained to think, let alone feel anything coherent. As she climbed into bed, pulling the duvet up to her chin, Jared reappeared, holding a cup of tea.

"Drink this," he offered, his voice quieter now, more measured. But Jerica didn't even glance at him. She couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye.

"Will you scream at me if I don't want to? Or will you go a step further?" she muttered, her words laced with a bitterness she hadn't intended, but couldn't hold back.

Jared's hand stilled, the cup trembling slightly. She had never spoken to him like this before—never let her emotions spill out so raw and unfiltered. He withdrew the cup slowly, unsure of what to say.

Jerica curled up under the duvet, her body sinking into the mattress, hiding from everything—the fight, the fear, the weight of their unraveling marriage. Jared stood by the bed, watching her for what felt like an eternity, before he finally turned and left the room.

She lay there, staring into the darkness, feeling the ache of their distance grow wider with every passing second. How did they get here? It wasn't supposed to be like this—not on their anniversary, not after everything they'd been through.

But now, as the silence settled between them like an unwelcome guest, Jerica couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. Something they might not be able to fix.

She couldn't go on like this. Whatever this is, it needs to end.