Chapter 9

The study door is half-closed.

Ava stands outside it anyway, one hand resting against the frame. She can hear him inside. Papers shifting. The low murmur of his voice on the phone. Controlled. Professional. Calm in a way he hasn’t been with her in weeks.

“Yes,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.”

“No. I don’t need assistance.”

She exhales slowly, then knocks once, lightly.

His voice lowers. “I’ll call you back.”

The silence that follows is immediate and sharp.

“Yeah?” he calls.

She pushes the door open the rest of the way. He’s at the desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. His laptop screen casts a pale glow across his face. There are dark circles under his eyes. He hasn’t shaved.

For a second, she just looks at him. He doesn’t look back.

“I made coffee,” she says softly. “It’s on the counter.”

“Thanks.”

She nodded and stayed where she was.

He glances up then, briefly. “Did you need something?”

She steps inside anyway.

“I spoke to Daniel this morning,” she says. “About the supplier issue. He said if we restructure the contract—”

“I’ve got it handled.”

His tone isn’t sharp, it was worse than that.

“I know,” she says quickly. “I just thought maybe if we—”

“Ava.”

Her name lands between them like something fragile and misplaced. He hasn’t said it in days.

Her chest tightens at the sound of it.

He leans back in his chair. Rubs a hand over his mouth. “I said I’ve got it.”

“I’m not trying to take over.”

“I know.”

“Then let me help.”

His jaw shifts. He looks at the wall behind her instead of her face. “I don’t need help.”

“You’ve barely slept.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

The clock on the bookshelf ticked loudly.

She steps closer to the desk. Puts her hand on the stack of papers nearest her.

“We built this together,” she says, quieter now. “You don’t have to carry it alone.”

He reaches out and slides the papers out from under her fingers.

“I said I’ll handle it.”

Her hand remains suspended for a second before she lowers it.

“You think I can’t?” he asks.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“It sounds like that.”

“It sounds like you’re shutting me out.”

His eyes finally snap to hers. There’s something there. Frustration, fear, and pride.

“Maybe I don’t want you in this mess.”

“I’ve been in every mess with you.”

“Not this one.”

“Why not?”

He stands abruptly. The chair rolls back with a soft thud. “Because I said so.”

The words echo in the small room.

She flinches, and they stare at each other.

She notices the way his hands are clenched. The way his shoulders are rigid, like he’s bracing for impact.

“You don’t have to protect me,” she says gently.

“I’m not protecting you.”

“Then what are you doing?”

His mouth opened and closed. He looks away first.

“I need you to stay out of it,” he says. “Just… stay out of it.”

The finality in his voice makes her throat burn.

“Okay,” she whispers.

He nods once, like the matter is settled, and sits back down.

The conversation is over.

She stands there another second longer than she should. Waiting for something—an apology, a softening, a look that says this isn’t about you.

But it never came. She leaves the study and closes the door behind her.

This time, it shuts all the way.

By afternoon, the house feels too quiet.

She folds laundry that doesn’t need folding. Rearranges the bookshelf, wipes down a counter already clean.

When the doorbell rings, the sound startles her.

She opens it to Sophie’s familiar grin and oversized sunglasses.

“Well,” Sophie says, stepping inside without waiting. “You look like someone stole your dog.”

Ava forces a smile. “Hi to you too.”

Sophie pulls her into a hug before she can protest.

Ava almost cries right there in the doorway.

Sophie pulls back, squinting at her. “Okay. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t do that.” Sophie kicks off her shoes. “You get this tiny wrinkle right here when you lie.” She taps Ava’s forehead.

Ava swats her hand away, but the smile doesn’t hold.

“Where’s Matthew?” Sophie asks, glancing toward the hallway.

“In the study.”

“Working?”

“Mm-hm.”

Sophie studies her face a moment longer. Then softer, “Wanna talk?”

Ava walks toward the kitchen. Sophie follows.

She busies herself with the kettle, even though neither of them drinks tea in the afternoon.

“He won’t let me help,” she says finally.

“With what?”

“Company stuff. There’s a supplier issue. It’s complicated but fixable.” She grips the counter. “I tried to go through options with him and he just—” She makes a small motion with her hand.

Sophie leans against the island. “Maybe he’s stressed.”

“He is stressed.”

“So?” Sophie asked.

“So we’ve always handled stress together.”

Sophie shrugs lightly. “Maybe he wants to feel like he can do it himself.”

Ava laughs, short and humorless. “Since when has he ever had to prove that?”

“Since maybe he feels like he does.”

Ava looks at her sister.

“You think I’m overreacting.”

“I think,” Sophie says carefully, “that you two have been through a lot lately.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Sophie walks closer. “You love him.”

“That’s not the question.”

“And he loves you.”

Ava’s silence stretches.

Sophie notices. “What?” she asks.

“He doesn’t look at me,” Ava says quietly.

Sophie’s expression softens.

“He doesn’t touch me unless he has to. He sleeps on the couch half the week. And when I try to help him with something that belongs to both of us, he tells me to stay out of it.”

Her voice cracks on the last word.

Sophie reaches for her hand. “Hey.”

“I don’t know how to reach him anymore,” Ava whispers.

“Maybe you don’t need to reach. Maybe you need to wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For him to figure himself out.”

Ava pulls her hand back gently. “What if he figures it out without me?”

Sophie exhales. “You’re spiraling.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.” Sophie tilts her head. “You always do this. You assume the worst before it happens.”

“And you always assume everything will magically work out.”

“It usually does.”

“Not like this.”

Sophie studies her face again. “Have you asked him what’s actually going on?”

“He says he’s handling it.”

“Maybe that’s the truth.”

“It doesn’t feel like the truth.”

Sophie sighs. “Then give him time.”

Ava looks toward the hallway, the study door is closed.

“He doesn’t want me near it,” she murmurs.

Sophie crosses her arms. “You can’t force him to need you.”

“I’m not trying to force him.”

“You kind of are.”

Ava looks down at her hands. “I just… I don’t want to be on the outside.”

“You’re not.”

“It feels like I am.”

Sophie softens again. “You’re married, not merged. He’s allowed to have things he handles alone.”

Ava nods slowly, though it doesn’t settle in her chest.

Sophie glances around the kitchen. “So. When are you coming home?”

Ava blinks. “Home?”

“Mom keeps asking. Dad pretends not to, but he does.”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Sophie asked.

“A lot is happening here.”

“There’s always a lot happening?”

Ava leans back against the counter. “I just… I don’t know yet.”

Sophie narrows her eyes slightly. “You’re avoiding.”

“Maybe.”

“Come for a weekend at least.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

Ava smiles faintly. “You sound like Mom.”

“God forbid.”

They both laugh, and for a second the tension lifts.

Sophie picks up her suitcase by the door. “By the way, I’m staying.”

“For how long?”

“A week.”

“A week?” Ava blinks.

Sophie grins. “Miss me?”

“You didn’t warn me.”

“I’m warning you now.”

Ava shakes her head, but there’s relief in her eyes. “Fine. The guest room’s the same.”

“Good. I need a break from my apartment anyway.” Sophie pauses, studying her again. “And maybe you need me here.”

Ava doesn’t argue.

From down the hallway, the study door opens.

Both women glance that way.

Matthew steps out, phone in hand. He freezes slightly when he sees Sophie.

"Hey." Sophie waved at him.

“Oh,” he says. “Hi.”

Sophie beams. “Do you remember me?”

He offers a small smile. “Something like that.”

His eyes flick briefly to Ava.

Sophie walks toward him and hugs him. He hugs back, polite, distant.

“You look exhausted, how are you doing?” Sophie says bluntly.

“I’m fine.”

“Mm-hm.” She pulls back. “You two taking care of each other?”

“Yeah,” he says.

Ava swallows.

Sophie looks between them but doesn’t push.

“Well,” she says brightly, clapping her hands once. “I’m starving. Who’s cooking?”

Matthew glances at Ava.

“You are,” Sophie says, pointing at him. “I miss your lasagna.”

He hesitates.

“Sure,” he says finally not sure of what to say.

As he moves toward the kitchen, he passes Ava close enough that their shoulders nearly brush.

She feels the warmth of him. He doesn’t turn.

And she stands there, watching his back, wondering how someone can be so close— and still feel so far away.