Page 34 of Red Rose Cupcake

Hell, when was the last time we even had a real conversation? One that wasn’t about the kids or work? I can’t remember. It’s like we’ve fallen into this routine, and somehow, the life we built together got lost in the grind.

I look at the framed photo on my desk, one from our honeymoon. Rosie’s smiling, her eyes bright and carefree, with her arms wrapped around me like she couldn’t get close enough. I’m grinning too, looking at her like she’s the best damn thing that ever happened to me—because she is.

That was five years ago. Back when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, couldn’t go a single day without stealing a few moments to just be together.

Now? I barely see her. When I do, it’s a quick kiss before she’s out the door or already half-asleep by the time I crawl into bed. I can’t even remember the last time we just… talked.

I sit down, the weight of it all hitting me square in the chest. This is exactly what I promised her I’d never let happen. I swore I’d always make time for her, always keep our connection strong. But life got in the way. Kids, work, bills, appointments—it all piled up, and somehow, we lost sight of what really matters.

And now, we’re on autopilot, living like roommates instead of lovers.

It’s not like we’re fighting. We haven’t had a real argument in years. But maybe that’s part of the problem. We’re not even passionate enough to fight. We’re just… coexisting.

My uncle’s words ring in my ears. I remember him telling me once, “It’s not the big fights that destroy a marriage, it’s the little cracks. The ones that go unnoticed until they’re too deep to fix.”

I push back in my chair, running a hand through my hair, and let out a long breath. We’re not there yet, but I’ll be damned if I let it get to that point. Rosie is my everything, and I’ll be damned if I lose her to this… rut we’re stuck in.

I need to fix this. Now.

* * *

The thought lingers in my head all day. By the time I get home, I know what I need to do. I step into the house, the sound of the kids playing upstairs filling the air, and I see Rosie, standing in the kitchen with her back to me, preparing dinner.

She looks… tired. Just like she has every day for the past few months. And it hits me like a freight train: she’s worn down, too. Probably more than I am. And neither of us has made any time for ourselves, let alone each other.

I walk up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her neck. She leans into me for a second, sighing, but then pulls away, gently nudging me off. “I need to finish dinner, babe,” she says, her voice soft but detached.

“Rosie…”

She doesn’t even look at me, too focused on the stove. “What is it, Knox?”

“We need to talk.”

Those words catch her attention. She turns around, her eyes narrowing with confusion. “About what?”

“About us,” I say, my voice low but firm. “About what’s been happening… or not happening.”

Her expression shifts, softening, but she looks away, a small sigh escaping her lips. “Knox, I’m tired. We can talk later, okay?”

I feel a pang of frustration, but I nod. I don’t want to push her, not now. Not when she’s clearly running on empty. But the seed has been planted in my mind, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting this slide.

* * *

Later that night, after the kids are in bed, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling. Rosie’s breathing softly beside me, already fast asleep. I glance at her, the moonlight casting a soft glow on her face, and it hits me again—how much I miss her. How much I miss us.

This can’t go on. We can’t keep living like this.

I turn over, the idea starting to take shape in my mind. A weekend. Just the two of us. No kids, no work, no distractions. Just me and Rosie, away from everything that’s been pulling us apart.

It’s time to remind her how much I love her. Time to remind both of us what we have together.

I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow.

* * *

The steady hum of my office fades into the background as I sit at my desk, staring blankly at the pile of paperwork in front of me. I’m supposed to be preparing notes for a client meeting, but my mind keeps wandering, drifting back to Rosie. To our life. To what we used to have.

I rub a hand over my face, feeling the weight of the last few months settle in my bones. We’re both running ourselves ragged, and it’s like we barely exist in each other’s world anymore. We talk, sure. About the kids, schedules, bills. But that fire, the connection that made me feel like the luckiest bastard alive? It’s slipping away.

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