Unspoken Fears and Deeper Steps

Lingling woke with a jolt, heart pounding in the early morning dimness. For a moment, she wasn't sure what had yanked her from sleep. Then the anxious swirl in her mind answered: Orm... therapy... I have to keep proving myself. She let out a shaky exhale and propped herself on an elbow, scanning the shadows of the bedroom she still occupied alone. She's here, she reminded herself, recalling how Orm had come back—at least physically—after the drunken meltdown. But for how long?

The question lodged in her chest like a spear. In the last few days, a new dread had taken root in her thoughts: What if Orm is secretly planning to leave me for good? The memory of Orm's quiet caution stung her. "I'll stay for now..." Orm had never said anything about divorce, but the idea that she might—that she could—petrified Lingling more than she could express. If she wants out, I'd lose the one person I can't live without.

She slid from the bed, stepping into slippers. Don't dwell on fears; show her with actions. She repeated that mantra, heading to the kitchen to start coffee. Each morning, she rose earlier, ensuring she didn't rush out for work. She wanted to share a few minutes with Orm, even if the silence was tense. Better that than leaving her alone in her own heartbreak.

In the kitchen's half-light, she prepped the coffeemaker, tossing glances at the clock. 6:05 a.m.—time enough to maybe make toast or eggs before Orm emerges. She decided on something simple: fruit salad, yogurt, toast. A quiet morning meal. And, I need to remember not to bury my head in the phone. She placed the phone face-down on the counter, forcibly ignoring the buzz of new messages from her office.

Footsteps approached. Her heart squeezed. Orm stepped into view, wearing a loose sweatshirt and leggings, hair slightly rumpled as though she'd been tossing in bed. Lingling offered a small, hopeful smile. "Morning," she said softly.

Orm paused near the table, arms folding as though she needed a shield. "Morning," she returned, voice subdued. Her gaze drifted to the array of fruit Lingling was cutting up. "You're up early again."

"I... yeah," Lingling murmured, arranging sliced strawberries in a bowl. "I figured we could share breakfast, if that's okay. I know it's just fruit and toast, but..."

Orm shrugged, glancing away. "It's fine. Thanks." She took a seat at the small table, posture still tense. Lingling's chest tightened, but she reminded herself: She's giving me a chance. She didn't walk away, she's just not letting her guard down yet.

Once the coffee finished brewing, Lingling poured two mugs and joined Orm, placing the fruit salad between them. For a minute, the only sound was the clink of cutlery. Lingling swallowed. "So... we have therapy again tomorrow," she noted. "You okay with that?"

Orm fiddled with her coffee cup, eyes downcast. "Yeah," she said. "It's... intense, but the counselor's good. At least it forces us to talk about the big things." She paused, then cast a quick look at Lingling. "You've been... consistent this week. I'm... noticing. Thank you."

A subtle warmth bloomed in Lingling's chest. She notices. "I—I'm trying hard," she confessed. Fear pricked her. Should I ask about divorce? Will that scare her? Her throat closed, and she remained silent. Not yet. I don't want to upset her if she never considered it. But if she did... She fought a shudder at the thought.

They finished breakfast quietly, Orm offering a terse but polite "Thanks" before retreating to shower. Lingling stared after her, the silence gnawing her nerves. She's not leaving now. I can't keep fixating on that possibility, she told herself. But it looms. I can't lose her.

By 8:00 a.m., Lingling was in her office, scanning an avalanche of emails. She forced herself to remember the vow: I will leave at five. She repeated that vow every time a staff member demanded a late meeting or an urgent fix. The first few days of this new approach had been rocky, but she refused to break her promise. In the back of her mind, the fear of divorce hovered: If I slip, maybe that's her final excuse to walk away.

Around noon, while sipping coffee in the break room, Lingling overheard two colleagues discussing a friend's "failed therapy attempt." The words snagged her attention: "They tried couples counseling, but it just confirmed they were better off divorcing," one coworker said, shaking her head. "Now they're finalizing the paperwork."

A cold ripple coursed through Lingling's veins. That's exactly what Orm might do if therapy just exposes how messed up we are. She nearly dropped her cup, heart hammering. Stop it. Orm never said she wants divorce. But her mind raced, imagining the worst. She's still so guarded... maybe she's quietly preparing.

She fled to her office, shutting the door. Hugging herself, she breathed in slow counts. No, she told herself firmly. Focus. Orm is still here. We're going to therapy. She's never mentioned lawyers. The memory of Orm's tearful vow—"I can't pretend everything is fine, but I'll stay for now"—rose in her mind, both comfort and torment. I need more therapy. We need more time. I can't let fear paralyze me.

The day ground on, tension ratcheting up with each new email titled "URGENT." By 4:30 p.m., her phone blinked with frantic messages from a major client. Her staff piled into her office, brandishing printouts of last-minute changes. Lingling's old self would roll up her sleeves, staying until 8:00 p.m. But now, each passing minute reminded her: It's almost five. I promised Orm. I... can't risk losing her again.

Her assistant hovered, eyes pleading. "Ms. Ling, the client's threatening to pull out if we don't finalize these changes tonight."

Lingling's gut churned. If I stay, Orm might think I'm slipping back. If I leave, could the client pull out? She weighed the cost. I won't lose Orm again. She forced her voice calm. "Delegate it, or work it out yourselves. I'm leaving at five. No exceptions."

"But—"

"Delegate," Lingling repeated, pulse clamoring. "I'll check the draft in the morning." Her staff shot each other worried looks, but she turned away, swallowing a rush of panic. I hate letting my team down, but I hate the idea of losing Orm more.

At 5:05 p.m., she scooped up her purse. The staff parted, half in disbelief, as she strode out. Her heart hammered: Am I risking my career? Possibly. But losing Orm would be far worse. She took measured breaths on the elevator ride down, ignoring her phone's incessant pings. The only message that truly mattered was the one she planned to send Orm: Heading home on time, see you soon.

Lingling and Orm sat side by side on a small couch, a tasteful rug and warm lamps setting a gentle atmosphere. Their therapist, a calm-faced woman named Dr. Junji, regarded them kindly over the rim of her glasses. "How have things been since last session?"

Orm fiddled with a cushion, gaze flicking toward Lingling. "She's leaving work on time," Orm said quietly, voice betraying a cautious praise. "We actually had dinner a couple of times this week."

"That's good progress," Dr. Junji observed, smiling faintly. She turned to Lingling. "How do you feel about it?"

Lingling's throat constricted. "Scared," she admitted, hands twisting in her lap. She glanced at Orm, tears edging her eyes. "I'm terrified every day that... if I slip once, Orm might... decide she's done." She inhaled shakily. Should I mention divorce? The words felt like knives in her mouth, but Dr. Junji's gentle nod encouraged her. "I keep thinking she might file for divorce if I fail again."

A flash of emotion crossed Orm's face—surprise, maybe sorrow. "Ling..." Orm murmured.

Dr. Junji gently asked, "Have you two ever openly discussed divorce?"

Orm looked at Lingling, a flicker of distress in her eyes. "We—no," she said. "I never said I was divorcing her. I walked out because I felt invisible, but..." She swallowed, blinking tears. "I never wanted to end it. I was just hurting too much."

Lingling's breath caught, relief mingling with leftover fear. "I—I was convinced you might be quietly planning it," she whispered. "Every time I see you shut down or get that look... I imagine the worst. That you're done with me."

Orm hesitated, anguish carving lines into her brow. "I can't deny that if you go back to ignoring me," she said slowly, tears edging her lashes, "I can't keep living like that. But—" She pressed her lips together. "I never actually considered filing for divorce. I wanted you to see me—love me—like before. Not to give up on us."

A sob wrenched from Lingling's throat. The tension in her chest loosened—Orm wasn't, or hadn't been, planning an exit strategy. She inhaled shakily, tears blurring her vision. "Thank you," she managed. "I was so terrified..."

Dr. Junji intervened gently, "It sounds like your greatest fear, Lingling, is that you'll make a mistake and Orm will finalize her departure. Meanwhile, Orm, you're indicating that, though you're not sure you can handle more heartbreak, divorce hasn't been your objective. Does that sound right?"

Both women nodded, tears brimming. Orm clutched a tissue, voice trembling. "I don't want to scare her into compliance. I just... can't survive more neglect. But I'm not drafting divorce papers behind her back."

Lingling choked back a sob, pressing a hand to her mouth. "I'm so sorry I ever made you feel neglected enough to consider leaving at all," she whispered. "But... hearing you're not planning a divorce—" She trailed off, tears threatening again.

They spent the next half hour dissecting these fears, acknowledging that while Orm didn't want to leave permanently, the possibility still hovered if old patterns returned. The session ended with Dr. Junji assigning a "Check-In" routine at home—fifteen minutes each evening to speak about concerns without phones or distractions.

They left the office quieter, emotions raw. In the car, Orm drove while Lingling stared at her hands. Eventually, Lingling reached to place a hand over Orm's on the gearshift. Orm let out a shaky sigh, not pulling away.

"I'm sorry I worried you like that," Orm murmured, eyes on the road. "I truly never filed for divorce. I never—" Her voice broke softly. "I wanted you to see me, not sign some papers."

Lingling's tears slipped free. "Thank you for clarifying," she whispered, gripping Orm's hand. "It... means more than you know."

They rode the rest of the way in a tense but tender silence, sorrowful that it had come to this, yet bolstered by the knowledge that Orm was not secretly finalizing an exit. She's still scared, but so am I, Lingling thought, heart aching with equal parts relief and regret.

That night at the condo, Orm retreated to the spare bedroom after dinner, exhausted from therapy's emotional weight. Lingling tried not to be crushed, telling herself: One step at a time. She curled up on the couch, phone in hand, warring with the urge to check work messages.

Her phone buzzed with a call from a close friend— Fluke — who'd been following their crisis from the start. Lingling answered in a hushed tone, tears spilling before she could even say hello. "I found out she never wanted a divorce," she half-laughed, half-cried, voice raw. "But she's so hurt... I keep seeing how guarded she is."

Fluke patiently listened, offering gentle reassurances. "Or maybe she's just traumatized. Keep showing her. The pain won't vanish overnight, but if you remain consistent, that might eventually heal things."

Lingling nodded, tears dampening her cheeks. "I won't let fear paralyze me or make me do something insane at work. I refuse to break my vow again." She sniffled. "I just want her to trust I'm not paying lip service..."

The conversation ended with Fluke urging her to stay strong, keep therapy appointments, keep delegating at work. As she disconnected, Lingling felt a renewed jolt of determination. No matter how scared I am, I can't revert. I won't let Orm question her place in my life again.

All week, Lingling continued leaving the office by five, returning home to Orm. The check-in routine Dr. Junji recommended was both awkward and helpful—fifteen minutes a night, no phones, no outside tasks, just them talking. At first, the talks were stilted, Orm stiff, Lingling over-apologetic. But by the third night, they found a small rhythm. They tackled topics beyond apologies—like old memories of trips, or their mutual dream of traveling to Italy someday.

One evening, after they'd finished their "Check-In," Orm lingered at the dining table, glancing at Lingling in that familiar, gentle way that used to set Lingling's heart aflutter. Something in that look told Lingling that maybe, maybe, they were edging closer to a time when they could laugh without an undercurrent of pain.

Lingling steeled herself, pulling out a small stack of photos from a happier period—a short trip they took early in their marriage. She asked quietly, "Remember these?" Orm eyed them, a flicker of nostalgia crossing her features.

They flipped through the snapshots: Orm beaming beside a picturesque lake, Lingling's arms looped around her waist, both wearing silly grins. "You were so annoyed we had to hike to get that view," Orm said, a tiny smile ghosting her lips.

Lingling laughed softly, tears threatening. "But the view—and you—were worth it."

A beat of silence, filled with memories and a swirl of tenderness. Then Orm slowly placed the photos aside. "It... hurts, remembering how we used to be," she murmured, voice husky. "But I guess it also reminds me of what we can maybe get back."

Lingling's heart thumped, a tremulous warmth flooding her. "I want that, Orm. I want more than that, even." She reached out carefully, brushing her fingertips over Orm's. For once, Orm didn't withdraw.

They ended up chatting about the trip, recollecting small comedic mishaps that made them laugh softly, a shared spark of genuine amusement cracking the persistent sadness. Eventually, Orm yawned, exhaustion winning. "I'm... heading to bed," she said. "But thanks for this."

Lingling bit back the urge to beg Orm to share the main bedroom. She nodded, voice subdued. "Sleep well. And thanks for... letting me share those pictures." Orm offered a faint, tired smile, then slipped away. Lingling sat in the living room, pressing the photos to her chest, tears of quiet relief mingling with the ache that Orm still slept in another room.

The next morning, Lingling woke again before her alarm, a faint sense of hope gnawing at her usual fear. She tiptoed into the kitchen. Just as she began prepping coffee, she heard footsteps—Orm, entering with her arms folded, a half-smile ghosting her lips. "Morning," Orm said, voice lighter than usual.

Lingling returned the greeting, heart fluttering. She realized she didn't feel the suffocating panic about divorce. Orm hadn't threatened it, nor had she implied it was on her mind. She's worried, but she's here. Each day that passed without Orm leaving felt like one more step away from the precipice.

They shared breakfast in relative calm, talking about that evening's therapy homework: a short walk around the neighborhood if the weather held. The conversation ended on a subdued but positive note—Orm praising Lingling for leaving on time consistently, Lingling expressing gratitude for Orm's presence.

As Lingling gathered her things to leave for work, she cast a final glance at Orm. Orm met her gaze, softness flickering in her eyes. The distance remained, but the question of divorce had, for the moment, lifted from Lingling's chest like a dark fog clearing. She's not secretly leaving me, Lingling thought, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She's giving me the chance to fix us.

In that realization, Lingling discovered a renewed determination to keep forging new lines in her life—no more overshadowing Orm with work, no more ignoring the woman who had once been her best friend and lover. The fear that had haunted her daily was not gone entirely, but it no longer paralyzed her. Orm wasn't drafting divorce papers behind her back; she was waiting to see if Lingling's changes were real and lasting.