I Went to Return My Neighbor’s Pliers – When He Opened the Door, My Legs Gave Out and I Shouted, ‘What Does It All Mean?!’

“What?” Jake asked, blinking slowly. “What does what…

mean?”

I looked at him, breathless.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing, Jake. I don’t know why I came.

I haven’t felt like myself in months, maybe longer. And then you showed up and fixed something I couldn’t, and now I’m standing in your doorway losing my mind because I saw a ring in a dish?”

He didn’t move.

“Why am I the only one falling apart?” I whispered. “And why do I feel safer in your hallway than I do in my own marriage?”

Jake didn’t ask questions.

He didn’t try to fix this — me. He just stepped aside.

“Come in, Simone,” he said quietly.

And I did.

I sat on the edge of his couch, legs still shaking, fingers clenched around my knees. Jake walked into the kitchen.

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