The next morning Kendrick woke up before the alarm.
Brandy was still asleep, face half-buried in the pillow, mouth slightly open, breathing slow and even.
For a second he felt a flicker of the old tenderness—then it curdled into irritation.
Even her sleeping pissed him off now.
How dare she look peaceful when I’m rotting inside? Kendrick said to himself.
He then jumped out of his bed, grabbed a pair of jeans hanging on the back of a chair that he wore yesterday and left the room without making a sound.
Coffee machine hissed while he stared at the fridge covered in stupid magnets from places they probably would never visit again.
Key West. Napa.
That damn cabin in Asheville we booked and then canceled because “work got busy.”
Work was never busy.
We just didn’t want to be alone together for five whole days.
Kendrick grabbed his mug and went outside to the back patio even though it was forty-something degrees and windy.
Sat on the cold metal chair and let the damp soak into my coat.
Better than being in there with her.
Around 9:17 she texted him.
Brandy: “Where are u.”
Kendrick: “Patio”.
Brandy: “It’s freezing out there.”
Kendrick: “I know.”
No reply for twenty minutes.
Then the screeching from sliding door opens.
She stepped out in knee height socks and that oversized hoodie she always wears when she’s trying to look small and non-threatening.
Her hair was a mess.
She didn’t looked… human.
“You didn’t come back to bed last night,” she said quietly.
“I fell asleep on the couch.”
“You didn’t.”
Kendrick took a sip of cold coffee. “Okay.”
She folded her arms.
“Are we gonna keep doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Pretending we are not dying inside every time we look at each other.”
The honesty hit like a slap. I don’t think he was ready for that.
He wanted her to keep playing the game so he could stay angry instead of guilty.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he muttered.
“I want you to say something real.
Anything.” Her voice with seriousness “You haven’t touched me in six weeks. You barely look at me. Last night at dinner you went to the bathroom for twenty minutes and came back looking like you’d seen a ghost. I’m not stupid Kendrick.”
He stared down at the cracked concrete that was between his feet. “I don’t love you anymore.”
It was silent for a minute or two he thought maybe she’d gone back inside.
But when he finally looked up she was still there, eyes shiny, jaw tight like she was biting her bottom lip.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
“Thank you?”
“For finally saying it out loud.” She wiped a tear running down her cheek.
“I’ve known for months. I just… I kept hoping if I was quiet enough, pretty enough, patient enough, you’d come back. That it was just a phase.”
“It’s not a phase.”
“I know.” She made a half laugh. “I don’t love your ass either. Not the way I did. Not even close.”
Hearing it from her mouth felt worse than saying it himself.
That was the confirmation he needed that it was over and not just in his head.
“So what now?” He asked.
She shrugged, her shoulders.
“I guess we were tired of beating around the bush to stop lying to each other.
Or we could’ve gonna keep lying to each other until one of us snaps and cheats or drinks ourselves stupid or… disappears without saying goodbye.”
Kendrick was standing there and thought about the woman at the gym who smiled at me last week.
The way his stomach flipped for five seconds before guilt crushed it.
He thought about the apartment listings he scrolled through at 2 a.m. last month. He thought about how easy it would be to just walk out today and never come back.
But he also thought about her crying alone in our bed tonight.
About her having to explain to her mom why it ended so fast. About the wedding photos we haven’t even printed yet sitting on a hard drive somewhere.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, and it sounded pathetic even to himself.
“You already are.” She wasn’t angry. Just tired.
“And he wasn’t making it any better.
We’re both doing it every day we stay together.”
I nodded slowly. The mist had turned into real rain now, fat drops hitting the metal table.
“I think I need to move out,” Kendrick said.
She didn’t flinch. Just closed her eyes for a second. “Yeah. Whatever.”
Neither of us moved for a long time.
Eventually she spoke again, softer. “I’m scared.”
“Me too.”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
“I don’t either. But being with you feels like being by myself hella loneliness.”
She laughed through tears.
“God, we’re fucked up.”
“Yeah. You fucked up.”
She stepped closer, hesitated, then put her arms around him.
He hugged her back. Hard.
Smelled her hair.
Felt the shaking in her shoulders.
And for the first time in months he didn’t feel trapped.
Then he went through a short emotional process:
He felt sad.
He felt guilty.
Then he felt relieved.
All at once.
When they finally pulled apart her face was blotchy and red.
“I’ll start looking for a place tomorrow,” Kendrick said.
“Okay.” She wiped her nose eyes on the hoodie sleeve again.
“Can we… can we at least try to do this kind? No screaming. No lawyers yet. Just… two adults who tried and failed.”
“Yeah. I want that.”
She gave a tiny nod.
“I’m gonna go inside now. I need to cry in the shower for a while.”
“Okay.”
She walked to the door, paused.
“I’m still glad it was you. Even if it ended like this.”
I couldn’t answer right away.
“Me too,” he finally managed.
She went inside.
He stood on the patio until the rain soaked through my shirt and my coffee mug was full of water.
Thirty years old.
Married for two months.
Separated before the thank-you cards were even sent.
And somehow—somehow—it felt like the first honest thing either of us had done since the courthouse.
And right now, real hurts less than pretending.