Lizzy pov
The late afternoon sun stretches low across the field, soft and golden, casting long shadows that move with the boys as they run. Their voices rise and fall in bursts of energy, laughter breaking through the sharp whistles of the coach, the rhythm uneven but familiar in a way that usually settles something inside me.
Today, it doesn't quite reach.
I sit on the sidelines with the other parents, a paper cup of coffee warming my hands even though I haven't taken a sip in a while. The noise surrounds me, full and alive, but I feel slightly removed from it, like I'm watching everything from just a step too far away.
James is easy to spot.
There's a focus in him when he plays, something determined and quietly intense that sets him apart from the others. Every now and then, he glances toward the sidelines, quick and subtle, like he's checking.
Looking for me.
I lift my hand the moment our eyes meet, offering him a small smile, and the way his shoulders straighten, the way his entire posture shifts like that tiny gesture matters more than it should, makes something tighten in my chest.
He shouldn't have to look for that.
He should just know it's there.
A whistle cuts sharply through the air, snapping the moment, and I shift slightly in my seat, crossing one leg over the other as I try to settle into the rhythm of it all.
"Lizzy."
I close my eyes briefly, letting out a sigh.
I turn, already pulling a polite smile into place as Barbara lowers herself into the chair beside me, perfectly composed as always, her presence both expected and unavoidable.
"Barbara," I say lightly. "Hi."
She beams at me, her gaze already sweeping over me in that quiet, assessing way she has, as though she's taking inventory of everything I don't say out loud.
"How's the shop?" she asks, smoothing her skirt as she settles in.
"Busy," I reply, wrapping my fingers a little tighter around my cup. "Which is good."
"Oh, I'm sure," she nods. "Every time I pass, it's full."
I smile politely, my gaze drifting back to the field. "It keeps me on my toes."
"And the boys?" she continues.
"Good," I say softly. "They're good."
Barbara follows my gaze, watching as the boys cluster around the ball, their movements chaotic but full of effort.
"They've grown so much," she says. "It happens so quickly."
"It really does," I murmur.
There's a pause, brief but loaded, the kind that should signal the end of a casual exchange.
But Barbara never lets silence sit.
"And how are things at home?" she asks, her tone shifting just slightly, softer but no less curious.
There it is. The real reason she's here. To gather gossip.
I keep my eyes on the field, buying myself a second.
"They're… good," I say carefully.
Barbara hums, like she's weighing that answer.
"We haven't seen Daniel in forever," she adds, her voice light but her curiosity unmistakable.
I swallow, my gaze flicking briefly to James before settling forward again.
"He got an apartment in the city," I explain, keeping my tone even. "It's closer to work. Cuts the commute."
"Oh," she says, leaning in just slightly. "That makes sense."
I nod, though it doesn't feel as simple as that.
"He comes home on weekends." I add before she can make up her own theory.
Barbara's brows lift just a fraction.
"Must be quite the adjustment," she says carefully.
"It is," I admit, my fingers tightening slightly around my cup. "But it works."
The words come out automatically. Practiced.
Like something I've said enough times that I've stopped checking if it's actually true.
Barbara studies me for a second longer than necessary before nodding, her attention drifting back to the field.
"Well," she says, smoothing her skirt again, "at least the boys still have their routine."
I just nod, taking a sip of my now cold coffee.
I follow her gaze back to the field, watching James sprint after the ball, his whole body leaning into it, and something in my chest tightens quietly.
"Yeah," I murmur. "They do."
My phone buzzes in my lap.
The sound feels louder than it should.
For a second, my heart jumps.
I glance down and unlock it immediately.
Daniel:
Hi, been super busy.
Conference was good. Very insightful.
I stare at the message longer than I should, the words sitting there like they're supposed to mean something more than they do.
And still there is no apology or acknowledgement.
Just… information.
I exhale slowly, my thumbs hovering before I type back.
Lizzy:
That's good news. I'm glad to hear that.
The boys are doing well.
I scroll quickly, selecting a photo from earlier, James mid-run, face lit up, Evan just behind him, and send it.
The reply comes faster this time.
Daniel:
That's great. I'm glad they are having fun.
I press my lips together, something tight settling low in my chest.
That's it?
He's not in the least a bit curious about how I'm doing.
I stare at the screen for a second, then type again, slower now.
Lizzy:
We miss you.
Are you coming home this weekend? James has a game on Saturday.
I really need you to be there for this one.
I hit send before I can overthink it.
The message delivers instantly.
And then nothing.
No typing bubble.
No reply.
Just silence.
I lock my phone and set it back in my lap, my fingers curling slightly around it as I look back out at the field.
The noise rushes in again.
The boys shouting.
Parents clapping.
The whistle cutting through everything.
Life continuing exactly as it should.
But something inside me feels… heavier.
Because I already know.
He's not coming.
Or if he does, it'll be rushed. Distracted. Half-present in a way that almost feels worse than not being there at all.
And before I can stop it, my mind drifts.
To Wade. To the way he noticed everything without being told.
The way he stepped in, fixed things, made space like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The way he looked at me.
Like I wasn't something he had to fit into his life.
Like I was the thing worth showing up for.
I swallow, shifting slightly in my seat.
There can't be a comparison. Not really.
One is my husband.
The father of my children.
The man I built this life with.
And the other is-
I don't even know what the other is.
But I know how it felt, and that's part of the problem.
Because now I've felt the difference, and it's making me notice the distance even more than before.
Barbara says something beside me, but I barely hear it. I nod anyway, offering a polite response that doesn't quite land, because my attention is no longer here.
I watch James laugh as he runs past, his voice carrying across the field, bright and full of life.
And for a moment a thought settles in my chest, soft and dangerous and impossible to ignore.
If I had asked Wade to show up to something like this, he wouldn't forget to come.