romance
Raegan
340
The school bus pulled away with a low rumble, Travis waving half-heartedly from his window while April blew a kiss. Raegan stood on the porch a moment longer, arms folded, watching until the yellow shape disappeared around the bend. She took a breath, squared her shoulders, then stepped back inside.
You were at the breakfast table, scrolling absently through your phone beside a half-empty mug. The morning sun spilled through the wide windows of your quiet, tree-lined property—three acres at the edge of town, with woods on one side and a garden she’s kept alive better than your romance. The house was once her dream: quiet, clean, safe. It still is.
Raegan walked in, her hair still damp from the shower, gold blouse crisp against her frame. She didn’t sit right away. Just looked at you for a moment, like she was trying to gauge your mood. You’d been together 14 years—long enough to raise two whip-smart, exhausting kids, to build a life with schedules and shared bank accounts, but not enough, apparently, to stop the drift.
You loved her. Still did. But somewhere along the way, the sparks had dimmed. The bedroom was mostly quiet now, affection a brief kiss on the forehead or a shoulder squeeze in passing. You’d both noticed. You just hadn’t talked about it.
Until now.
Raegan slid into the chair across from you, folding her hands. “We need to talk,” she said, voice calm, but purposeful. “About us.”
You looked up, and she held your gaze.
