Really Isla

Isla’s POV

I wake up after falling asleep on the couch and the first thing I do is reach for my phone.

1:03 a.m.

I stare at the screen longer than I needed to.

My husband, Shane, has always been home by 12 o’clock am on a Saturday night for the last thirteen years. We’ve been together since I was sixteen years old. He doesn’t stay out late. He doesn’t just disappear. He doesn’t do anything outside of his normal routine.

Tonight, though, he went to his boss’s wedding. It's a big deal, apparently, and I already knew I wasn’t going.

I didn’t feel like dressing up. Didn’t feel like smiling in people’s faces. Didn’t feel like pretending everything was fine when it isn’t.

So I dropped the kids off at his mother’s house. She basically raises them anyway. I told myself I wanted quiet and space. A night to breathe without homework, whining, or someone asking me where their socks were like I personally misplaced them.

I ran a hot bath. Opened a bottle of wine. Picked a couple of movies I didn’t even care about watching.

And honestly? I enjoyed not being bothered by screaming children… or a non existent ass husband.

Especially knowing Sade was going to be there. I try to avoid her like the plague. She lives down the street, which feels personal. She has a fine-ass new husband. Eight kids who are thriving.

A picture perfect life she slipped into like it was nothing.

And she acts like the whole thing with her and Marco never even happened.

Marco’s out here living his best life with his new woman. He and Sade upgraded, moved on, and glowed up.

Guess what, I’m still here.

Stuck with the same old Shane.

Mr. Routine. Mr. Predictable. Mr. “I’ll be home by nine.”

Which is why it’s so shocking that he’s not home right now.

I pour another glass of wine and sigh.

“Whatever,” I mutter to myself. “I’m going to bed.”

It’s not like we’re intimate.

It’s not like we really talk.

We communicate for the kids. We’re cordial for the kids. We coexist for the kids.

Sometimes I catch myself missing what we had before, but then I stop and ask myself… what exactly was that?

There was no spontaneity and no fire. Just stability.

I trusted him, though. I still do. Outside of the weirdness with Madison, Sade's sister, I never had a reason not to. And even then, I told myself it was just nostalgia. Lust mixed with memories and what ifs he never explored.

Those feelings didn’t really surface until I did what I did with Marco.

That cracked something open.

After that, I noticed little things. The women he looked at online. The ones who all looked… nothing like me. And I assumed that meant he wasn’t attracted to me, but then he stopped. Completely. Just went cold turkey.

And that confused me even more.

So here I am, still stuck. Still married. Still questioning everything.

Is it because he pays the bills?

Because the fridge is always full?

Because the kids are taken care of?

At this point, we’re roommates, and not even friendly ones. Not the kind that ask how your day was or offer to cook dinner.

We just exist in the same space.

I finish the bottle and head downstairs for another. I glance outside, no headlights, no familiar minivan.

I grab the bottle, go back to the couch, and turn on N*****x. I don’t care what it is. British Bake Off. Stranger Things. Some random series I’ll never finish.

The TV plays. I’m not watching.

Then I hear a car.

I freeze.

I rush to the window, and my chest tightens, but it’s Sade and Adamo’s car pulling into their driveway.

I check the time.

1:56 a.m.

So they’re home.

Adamo helps her out of the car, and they’re kissing like they haven’t seen each other in months. Like they were separated by continents instead of a few hours and neither are the case.

People say some couples are tied at the hip, those two are damn near surgically attached.

Hopefully they got everything tied, burned, clipped, because the way they are going at it, they’re one glance away from another baby.

They already have a whole starting lineup. Thats enough.

I chuckle… but the jealousy creeps in anyway.

Not jealousy over her.

Over the affection.

The ease.

The way love looks effortless on them.

The porch light flicks on. Sade’s mom stands there with her arms crossed while those two idiots are still kissing. She shakes her head, unimpressed.

They finally break apart and go inside.

I turn away from the window and sink back into the couch.

Still nothing from Shane.

No text. No call.

A knot forms in my stomach. What if something happened? The wedding was on the South Side, in Bronzeville, I think. Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes away.

He should’ve been home hours ago.

I pull the blanket over myself, sip my wine, and let the TV talk to itself. My eyes drift closed.

.......

Birds chirping wake me.

Sunlight spills through the curtains and warms my face.

I yawn.

“He must’ve come home and didn’t wake me,” I mumble.

I check my phone.

8:30 a.m.

I get up, assuming he went straight to his room. When I open the door, nothing.

Empty.

Maybe he's in the bathroom.

I decide to eat first. I make a bagel, pour a cup of coffee, add a little cup orange juice. My normal routine.

But the house is too quiet.

I know the difference between silence and emptiness.

I check my phone again.

Nothing.

No messages. No missed calls.

I can’t just walk down the street and ask Sade where my husband is, though knowing her, she’d probably enjoy slamming the door in my face.

She’s blocked me on everything anyway.

Still… I need answers.

I get dressed quickly in yoga pants, t-shirt, hoodie, gym shoes. Tie up my ponytail. Grab my keys, phone, and wallet.

After this, I’ll get the kids.

I walk down the street, stop in front of Sade’s house, and take a deep breath. The renovations are insane.

The place looks like a four story mansion.

Money definitely found them.

I ring the doorbell.

Again.

“I got it, Mom,” a young voice says.

The door opens.

Marco Jr.

“Hey, Marco,” I say softly. “How are you?”

“Hi, Miss Isla,” he replies, polite but distant.

They used to call me Auntie.

“Is your mom here?”

“Yes. Can you stand right there, please?”

“Of course.”

He closes the door.

Five minutes later, Sade appears.

She’s beautiful. Always has been. Effortlessly so.

That kind of beauty you wake up with, and I’ve always hated her for it.

“Hi, Isla,” she says calmly. “How can I help you?”

“Have you seen Shane?” I ask.

“Yes. At the reception last night.”

“Do you know where he is? He didn’t come home.”

She shrugs. “No idea. He was relaxed, though. Drinking. Talking. Having a great time. Honestly… it’s the most at ease I’ve seen Shane in years.”

I don’t know if that was information, or a jab.

“I’m just worried,” I say. “If he was drinking… maybe an accident…”

She chuckles.

“Maybe he’s just giving you a taste of your own medicine.”

She winks.

“Have a good day, Isla.”

The door closes.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I mutter.

I turn...

And that’s when I see it.

The minivan.

Turning into our driveway.

Shane steps out, shirt unbuttoned, jacket in his hand, practically skipping up the porch.

I swallow hard.

“Oh,” I whisper.

Now I get it.

My own medicine.

But the question is...

Do I care?

And the answer settles heavy in my chest.

Yeah.

I actually do.