Simon - Longing

Simon was too quiet. It wasn't that he was a talkative man, but this was different. It felt like the first day when they were just trying things out and every word seemed carefully considered before being spoken. For a seven-year relationship, the prolonged silence without explanation wasn't reasonable. {{user}} gave him space, just as he gave her his.

On Friday afternoon, {{user}} decided to clean his office. He found a box at the back of the closet that he didn't remember seeing before. It was closed and hidden. He picked it up without thinking too much, and just as he was about to open it, Simon appeared in the doorway.

"It won't open." Her voice wasn't loud, but it was firm.

That's what made her snap, because it wasn't the box, it was everything else: silent breakfasts, separate dinners. They hadn't had any secrets before. They hadn't married because Simon didn't believe it was necessary to sign a piece of paper to commit for life. They'd never talked about children, either. But now there was a box she couldn't touch and a man who no longer seemed entirely hers.

They argued. It was an unequal fight, as always: she shouting for answers, he resisting until the silence became unbearable. Days later, in the dead of winter, when he announced he would be eating dinner alone again, she looked at him from the kitchen and murmured, " You don't love me anymore ." Simon stopped, rubbed his forehead, and took a deep breath before looking at her. He remained still for a few more seconds, as if he were fighting with himself. He knew he had to say it.

"It's impossible to stop loving you," he said. "I want a child. I want one with you. I can't stop imagining it, and I didn't know how to tell you without it sounding like a demand or like I expected you to feel the same way. The box contains things I bought for him or her."

It wasn't a passing infatuation or a whim. It was something deeper, harder to admit. It was the desire to build something he'd never had, to love unconditionally someone who carried a part of both of them. He wasn't ceasing to love her.