5:24 PM

The clock on the microwave was blinking, 5:00. Iyla tapped on her phone, checking the time. The time matched, it was 5:00 PM. The power had gone out in the morning before finally being restored by 3:40 PM. Yet, the time on the microwave was correct without her having to change it. She looked up at her husband, who was filling a pot with water at the sink. He was silent. He’s been silent since 8:30 AM, a few minutes after the power failed. The storm this morning was powerful, knocking out most of the town’s power. They were expecting a day full of sunshine, but instead they were met with darkness, thunder, lightning, and heavy rain.

“Can I help you prepare dinner?” Iyla asked, hopeful her speaking first would encourage him to talk to her.

He remained silent as he moved the pot to the stovetop. He lit the flame on high. Iyla decided to approach the situation differently.

“You know, you are the hottest chef in the world,” Iyla said, smiling lightly and twirling a strand of her hair.

He reached into the cabinet, pulling out a box of Rotini pasta. He placed it onto the countertop, next to his open container of sauce. He bent down to the lower cabinets, underneath the microwave, and pulled out a small sauce pan. The microwave was now blinking, 5:04 PM.

She looked at her wedding ring, it was dull and needed to be reshined. Her finger had swollen around the band, making it painful to take off. She used to be worried about it slipping off, but now she’s worried that not even butter could pull this rock off her finger. There were pictures of his proposal somewhere in a photo album that was never finished. Her train of thought was focused on locating that album, when the water began to boil. He let the water boil as he started the sauce. She listened to the clicking of the second burner, the burst of the flame, followed by the plopping of sauce filling the pan. It was now 5:10 PM.

“Why won’t you speak to me?” Iyla asked, looking at him in her peripherals.

He poured the box of pasta into the pot, and the boiling water became still. Placing the box on the counter, he turned his head toward her. A sad and tired expression painted his face. He remained silent, and pulled his attention back to cooking. Her heart ached, and her breathing became harder to do with each breath. The water boiled once more. She got up from the table, and opened up the cabinet with their dishes. She grabbed a bowl for her, and a plate for him. She reached into the drawer, and grabbed two forks. Her heart pounded heavily as she turned her attention to the dining table. Did he even want to sit with her? Her heart pounded faster as she placed his plate on the table across from her. She sat down in her chair and stared across at the microwave. It was now blinking, 5:12 PM.

He was scrolling on his phone as he stirred the sauce. Cooking pasta was a boring meal for him to make. He was a professional chef at a fancy hotel for years until he aged out. The demands of a kitchen staff is too much for anyone above 40 years old. But, he still loved to cook and every night he would make dinner for Iyla and himself. It was an unspoken rule in their house, especially since Iyla couldn’t be trusted toasting a piece of bread. Her thoughts drifted into ranking every meal he has ever made her. There was the saffron lobster tonnarelli, the lemon and parmesan crusted salmon, the italian wedding soup, and madeira chicken. But, her favorite dish was grilled cheese paired with tomato soup. She loved all of his fancy creations, but a classic grilled cheese brought her back to simple times and her favorite childhood memories.

The water splashing into the strainer, pulled her from her thoughts and back into the present. She tapped on her phone to check the time, it was now 5:21 PM. He brought the pasta back to the stove, placing the strainer in the pot. She got up and handed him her bowl, thoughts of saying something tempted her lips, but she remained quiet. He filled her bowl with pasta and sauce, then topped it with sprinkles of fresh parmesan cheese. He handed her the bowl back. She gave him a small smile to let him know she was thankful, still unsure if she should speak. But, to her surprise, he smiled back. It wasn’t a toothy grin, but it was something. She placed her bowl on the table, and grabbed his plate. She handed it to him and sat down.

She waited for him to sit down, before digging into her meal. The pasta was cooked perfectly and the sauce was delicious despite being store bought. He ate more carefully, slowly lifting a forkful of Rotini into his mouth. He swallowed hard, gulping down more than just pasta.

The microwave clock was no longer blinking as it read, 5:24. It was as steady as the words breaking his day long silence.

“I want a divorce.”

“What?”

“We’re getting a divorce.”

It was still 5:24 PM when her heart shattered into millions of tiny shards.

“No, we’re not. What are you talking about? Why are your only words today hurtful ones?”

Tears burned at his eyes, “I don’t want to hurt you. But… Our marriage… it’s over, Iyla.”

“How dare you say that! Our marriage… Our marriage has been in a rut lately, but it’s not over. I… I love you.”

His eyes shifted downward, “I know. But it’s not a rut, Iyla. It’s the end dragging on.”

“Shut up. Shut. Your. Mouth. This is not the end!”

Iyla’s hands were shaking, his were tense. He took another bite of his pasta.

“The end has been following us like a shadow, there in every moment, even if it wasn’t visible. I can see it now and it has filled every corner of this room. It’s daring to suffocate us. I can’t breathe.”

Tears blurred her vision, “Why not go to therapy? We can chase those shadows away. Please! Don’t give up on us.”

“Don’t you see? Therapy can’t save this! Nothing can save this! I don’t love you anymore!”

There was silence. He meant what he said, but the look on her face crushed his soul. He wanted to take it back, she wished he would take it back. But, there’s no taking back spoken words. Her face burned, her stomach felt nauseous, and her cries were loud. He watched silently, giving her time to grieve the end of their relationship.

By the time her tears ran out, it was 6:45pm. They dug their forks into their cold pasta and ate silently, listening to the rain flying against their window.