Drawing New Lines

The smell of coffee roused Lingling from a restless sleep. Normally, she'd leap up at the first beep of her phone, eyes glued to emails, but today she reached for the small clock on her bedside table instead—5:58 a.m. An old part of her brain prodded to check the latest contract updates. Another, stronger impulse told her: No. You promised Orm you'd change.

She inhaled shakily, recalling the precarious moment two nights ago when Orm had knelt beside the couch, eyes swollen from crying, and told her "I'll stay for now." Even now, the memory clutched at Lingling's heart with a mix of gratitude and dread. She's still here. But she's also one misstep away from walking out again. That terror fueled every deliberate choice Lingling made—starting with how she greeted this new day.

Dragging herself upright, she noticed the other side of the bed was empty. Of course, she thought grimly. Orm had chosen to sleep in the other bedroom—evidence of the distance Lingling's neglect had forced between them. She took a moment to steel herself. One day at a time, or I lose her for good.

The first thing she did was not pick up her phone. Instead, she pulled on a robe and headed to the kitchen, where the faint hum of the coffee machine guided her. She found Orm standing at the sink, hair damp from a shower, wearing gray sweatpants and an old T-shirt that used to be Lingling's favorite on her. The pang of nostalgia nearly buckled Lingling's knees. We used to share these mornings so naturally—until I stole that warmth by always focusing on work.

"Morning," Lingling managed. Her voice cracked with sleep and anxiety. She attempted a smile, tucking her messy hair behind her ear. Orm offered a polite nod, wordless, and turned off the coffee machine.

A strange silence stretched: unspoken heartbreak on Orm's side, frantic hope on Lingling's. She must still be reeling from the meltdown, Lingling thought, recalling the memory of retching into the toilet while Orm held her. She'd never felt so vulnerable—or so ashamed.

"Want some breakfast?" Lingling offered, gesturing to the fridge. Her own stomach still felt knotted, but she was determined to do something normal—like they used to, once upon a time. "I could make eggs or toast. It's... not much, but—"

Orm exhaled, adjusting the mug in her hand. She glanced at Lingling with guarded eyes. "Sure," she said quietly. "Eggs are okay." Her tone was too measured, as though she was testing Lingling's sincerity in each syllable.

Relief warred with guilt in Lingling's chest. She carefully took out the eggs, bread, butter—aware that Orm's every glance weighed this effort. It's not about a fancy meal; it's about me not rushing out the door. She cracked the eggs into a small bowl, whisking them, focusing on each motion. One day at a time.

In the hush, the sizzle of butter in the pan sounded loud. Lingling felt Orm's presence behind her, silent, watchful. After a moment, Orm grabbed two mugs from the cupboard and poured fresh coffee, placing one near Lingling. She said nothing, but the tiny gesture of offering coffee felt like a small olive branch. Lingling's eyes stung with tears she refused to shed.

When they sat at the small kitchen table—milk, sugar, scrambled eggs, toast—Lingling swallowed nervously. "I'm leaving the office at five today. No late nights," she said softly, pushing away the pang of fear that told her the demands at work were piling up. She thought about the new contract revisions, the backlog of negotiations. None of that matters more than Orm right now.

Orm nodded, taking a bite of toast. "Okay," she replied, eyes flicking up to Lingling's face. "That's good." Her tone sounded subdued, not exactly trusting. But a faint flicker of something—maybe relief—crossed her gaze. She quietly sipped coffee afterward.

Lingling forced a small smile. "We can have dinner together, if... that's alright with you. Or maybe we can just talk about—anything, really. Unless you need space."

Orm pressed her lips together, wrestling with an internal reluctance. Lingling could almost see the memories flicker in Orm's eyes: nights she'd pleaded for a small dinner, or a conversation, while Lingling buried herself in calls or last-minute contract fiascos. Eventually, Orm exhaled. "Let's keep it low-key, okay? We can... talk about your day, see if you're comfortable leaving on time."

Lingling nodded, ignoring the sting of that backhanded comment—"See if you're comfortable leaving on time." She deserved it. I have to earn her trust back. "Sure," she said softly, focusing on her eggs. She was too anxious to taste anything, but forced herself to keep eating—for them. Orm finished her small portion, then slipped away with a quiet "thanks."

The morning ended in near-silence, but Lingling found a small measure of hope in the fact that at least Orm had shared a meal. At least she hadn't flinched at every word. It's a start, Lingling thought.

At the office, Lingling felt the usual onslaught of demands: calls, emails, clients clamoring for attention. By habit, she wanted to bury herself in them, to prove her competence. But the image of Orm's exhausted face at breakfast anchored her. I promised I'd leave at five. No matter what.

She flagged only the most critical tasks to handle personally, handing off smaller issues to her team. Her assistant blinked in confusion at these instructions. Lingling pressed her lips together, mustering composure. "You all need to handle the load. I can't keep doing twelve-hour stints. It's non-negotiable."

The assistant gave a wobbly nod, scurrying off. Lingling sank into her chair, burying her head in her hands for a moment. They'll have to adapt. If they can't, that's their problem... not Orm's. A wave of guilt washed over her—if only she'd learned this earlier.

All day, she pushed through tasks with renewed fervor, glancing at the clock as five approached. A manager tried to slip her a last-minute file at 4:50. In the past, she'd accept it, no question. This time, she raised a hand and said, "Send it to the team. I'm leaving in ten." The manager's disbelief was palpable, but Lingling pretended not to notice. For Orm. She's more important.

At 5:05, she shut down her computer, heart pounding. The entire floor felt as if it paused to watch the unstoppable Ling, the once "married-to-the-job" workhorse, slip out with her purse. She forced herself not to dwell on their reactions, her mind only repeating: Orm is waiting. She might not be thrilled, but at least she'll see I'm trying.

Pulling into the condo parking lot around five-thirty, Lingling's pulse raced as she let herself in. She found Orm flipping through design sketches in the living room, a desk lamp illuminating the pages. When Orm glanced up, her expression showed a flicker of surprise and—was that relief? Lingling's chest squeezed.

"You're home," Orm observed, setting the sketches aside. The note of guarded approval in her tone almost made Lingling tear up. "I guess you really did leave at five."

Lingling's cheeks warmed. "Yes. I told them it was non-negotiable." She tried for a casual shrug. "I want to be here, with you."

Orm inclined her head in acknowledgment but said nothing more. Lingling felt the tension thick in the air, reminding her that one evening of good behavior wouldn't erase months of disregard. Still, the quiet was less suffocating than before. She inched closer, asking about Orm's designs, offering to help with dinner. Orm answered calmly, politely—a subdued courtesy that underscored her lingering wariness.

Despite the tension, the evening passed peacefully. Lingling mustered the courage to mention possible therapy, and though Orm grew pensive, she didn't shut the idea down. At least she's listening. That night, they parted ways for bed: Orm still slept in the spare bedroom, and while it stung, Lingling understood. She drifted off repeating: Keep going, keep proving it.

On the next morning, Orm mentioned she needed to work at her personal studio downtown—an airy loft she rented primarily for uninterrupted design time. Lingling sensed Orm's hesitation as she explained she might see Ying there, delivering old event photos. Immediately, Lingling's nerves prickled. Ying... again. She forced a calm tone, but inside she churned with fear that Ying might seize on Orm's vulnerability.

"You can come by later if you want," Orm murmured, carefully neutral. "I'll probably be there until mid-afternoon." Lingling nodded, relieved at even that mild invitation. She kissed Orm's cheek softly—a gesture Orm accepted with a faint flush before stepping away to gather her purse.

At the office, Lingling found it harder to concentrate. Her mind veered to potential encounters between Ying and Orm. What if Ying tries to stir trouble again? If she implies Orm's not "locked down" because we're separated? A mild panic set in. By noon, Lingling decided: I'm leaving early again to see Orm at the studio. If Ying is there, I'll handle it. She hammered through urgent tasks at breakneck speed, ignoring raised eyebrows from coworkers.

By 1:30 p.m., she grabbed her purse, determined to meet Orm. Anxiety and resolution both thrummed in her veins. No more illusions about Orm's 'availability.'

Orm's studio occupied the upper floor of a renovated warehouse—a place of tall windows and exposed brick, the perfect space for her creative process. When Lingling climbed the creaking stairs, each step echoed her pounding heart. She heard subdued voices from within.

She rounded the last corner into the open area. Orm stood by a large drafting table, arms folded tight, tension radiating from her posture. Opposite her, Ying leaned casually against the table, flipping through a portfolio of photos. The moment Lingling stepped in, Ying's brows rose in mild surprise.

"Lingling?" Ying's tone was lightly mocking, as though enjoying the drama. "Didn't expect you here."

Lingling forced a level breath, her pulse spiking. She flicked her gaze to Orm, who offered a fleeting look of relief, as though silently grateful for Lingling's presence. Lingling stepped forward, planting her feet in a show of calm. "Orm mentioned you might drop by."

Ying's eyes narrowed with a catlike curiosity. "I'm just delivering these event photos. Thought Orm might want to pick which ones to incorporate into her brand updates." She cast Orm a sidelong glance, lips curving. "We had a nice talk, actually."

Orm's jaw tightened, but she remained silent. Lingling recognized Orm's discomfort; Ying thrived on stirring confusion. With a small inhale, Lingling steadied herself. She's not coming between us. I won't let it happen.

"That's professional, sure," Lingling said coolly, stepping closer. "But let's keep it professional. Orm is my wife. I realize we hit a rough patch, but that doesn't make her available to you or anyone else."

Ying let out a small laugh. "Rough patch? I'd say a bit more than that, considering she moved out. Yeah, rumors run fast." Her tone held the faintest sneer. "Didn't look so 'together' to me."

Orm bristled, starting to say something, but Lingling placed a calming hand lightly on Orm's forearm. I'll handle this. She turned to Ying, voice firm yet quiet. "We're still very much married. And we're fixing things. If you're truly just delivering photos, fine. But any illusions you have about Orm being up for grabs? Forget it."

A thin smile slid across Ying's face. "You're lucky she's still around after everything I've heard about your... priorities." She shrugged, feigning innocence. "Someone like Orm deserves the world. If you're not giving it, don't blame me for noticing."

Lingling's anger flared hot in her chest, but she forced it into measured words. "I know I failed her. I own that," she said, voice vibrating with emotion. "But I'm not giving up. And I won't let your subtle flirtations or insinuations twist this further. She's not interested. Period."

The tension crackled. Orm stood by, eyes darting between them. Ying gave a resigned roll of her shoulders, placing the photo portfolio on the table with a careless slap. "Fine. If Orm wants me to step away, that's that. But you'd better not squander her again." She cocked a final arch of her eyebrow at Lingling. "Or next time, she might not bother to come back to you."

Lingling's breath hissed, but she maintained composure. "She won't have to. I'm here for her, completely." She paused, letting the declaration hang. "If that's all, you can go."

Ying cast Orm a last glance, then pivoted, striding out. Her footsteps echoed down the corridor until the heavy door clanged shut. In the aftermath, silence thundered louder than any argument.

The hush stretched. Lingling's heart raced from the confrontation's rush, adrenaline coursing her veins. Slowly, Orm let out a long, shaky exhale. "Thank you," she said, voice trembling. "I—didn't know how to handle her pressing. Sometimes I just ignored her messages, but she kept pushing."

Lingling swallowed the lump in her throat, approaching Orm with cautious steps. "I'm sorry you felt cornered." Her chest hurt at the thought of Orm silently enduring Ying's sly attempts while Lingling was too wrapped in her own meltdown. "But I won't let her stir trouble about us anymore."

Orm nodded, eyes glimmering with something like relief. "I appreciate that," she managed, her tone still subdued. "I just... I'm still not ready to pretend everything's fine, okay?"

Lingling's voice shook as she placed the lunch bag she'd brought on a nearby stool. "I know. I promise—shutting Ying down is just one piece. I'm leaving work on time, cutting hours, considering therapy. I'm... all in, Orm." She inhaled. "For us."

They stood there, the studio's tall windows letting in a wash of late afternoon light, illuminating dust motes in the air. Orm stared at Lingling, tears edging her eyes. "I'm still scared," she admitted, voice rough. "I keep waiting for you to slip back into ignoring me once the workload piles up again."

Lingling's heart clenched. "It's not going to be easy," she murmured. "But I want it. Every day, I'll prove it. I won't let you feel invisible again."

Orm swallowed, tears finally sliding free. She didn't sob or cling—she was still too guarded for that—but she allowed Lingling to gently press a hand over hers. They locked eyes, a single shared breath passing between them.

Lingling cleared her throat, voice husky. "I also... brought you some lunch. If you haven't eaten, maybe we can share a quick meal?"

Orm blinked away tears, composing herself. "Yeah, sure," she said softly. She led Lingling to a wide wooden worktable. They perched on stools, rummaging through the simple sandwiches Lingling had packed. The air still felt charged with leftover tension from Ying's presence, but a fragile sense of closeness broke through.

As they unwrapped the sandwiches, Orm shot Lingling a fleeting glance. "I'm... I'm glad you were here to handle Ying. Not that I couldn't, but..." She exhaled. "It means something that you insisted on your boundaries about us."

Lingling's throat tightened around a wave of emotion. "I let them slip so badly before," she admitted. "Never again."

They ate in a subdued hush, the small sound of paper unwrapping and occasional awkward remarks about the city traffic or the design sketches Orm was finalizing. Lingling felt each moment as a gift—they were together, in Orm's creative sanctuary, forging a path forward. The tension lingered, yes, but for the first time, she sensed Orm's cautious hope flickering.

When they finished, Orm stood, clearing away the trash. Lingling rose too, uncertain if she should remain or head back to the condo. Orm hesitated, then quietly said, "Thanks for... that. And for the lunch, I guess." She looked away, tears threatening. "You know it's going to take more than a few days, right?"

Lingling nodded fervently, tears stinging. "I do. I won't stop. I love you, Orm. I'm sorry it took... losing you to realize how badly I messed up."

Orm let out a trembling sigh, blinking fast to stem her own tears. "One day at a time," she murmured.

"One day at a time," Lingling echoed, voice thick. "Exactly."

They parted with a tentative hug—Orm allowed it, though her posture was still slightly stiff. Even so, the fact that she didn't recoil or push Lingling away gave Lingling's heart a precious surge of relief.

Later that evening, Lingling returned to the condo, mind churning with the day's events. Confronting Ying had drained her, but she felt a renewed sense of clarity. No more illusions about Orm's "availability." I'm fully here. The whole world should know that. Orm arrived home a couple of hours later, looking fatigued yet slightly less burdened.

They exchanged a few words about the day—Orm's continued design work, Lingling's unwavering stance with her office schedule. The mention of therapy arose again, and this time Orm responded with a cautious nod, as though she might actually entertain the idea soon.

While they still slept in separate rooms that night, the condo felt less suffocating. Lingling carefully left her phone in the kitchen, refusing the old habit of checking last-minute client emails. She ended the day replaying Ying's sneer, that final challenge: "If you keep messing up, she might not wait forever." Lingling pressed a hand to her chest in the dimness, reminding herself: She's not waiting alone. I'm here, fighting for us now.

And in her own bedroom, Orm curled under the blankets, mind flickering with the memory of Lingling calmly, resolutely telling Ying, "She won't have to wait." A tiny spark of comfort pierced Orm's lingering heartache. Maybe, just maybe, we can mend.