After the TV goes quiet

“I love you!”

Annie says it with her eyes on her hands, squeezing them shut as her fingers worry the napkin on her lap, slowly fraying its edges. It’s the first time she’s ever said it out loud, to anyone. She waits for it to land.

One second.

Two.

She almost wishes she hadn’t opened her eyes. Then she does.

Daniel has turned his face away, blinking hard, jaw tight like he’s embarrassed by what’s happening to him. When he looks back at her, his eyes are wet.

“I love you too.” he says.

Relief rushes through her so fast it makes her lightheaded. He pulls her close, cups her face, kisses her softly and with certainty, like he’s been waiting to say it just as long.

That’s how their six-month anniversary dinner ends.

Eight months later, Annie sits in her car with the engine running.

It’s five o’clock. She got off work at three. The dashboard clock glows. The gas needle hovers just above empty. She stays anyway, soaking in the last of the heat, knowing exactly what waits upstairs.

Eventually, she turns the car off.

The cold hits her hard the moment she steps out. She rushes inside, fumbling with her keys, already dreading the climb. There’s an elevator, but it’s fast, too fast. The stairs are slower. She tells herself it’s good to get the exercise.

She takes them one at a time.

But the stairs end, like they always do, and she stands on the third floor with nowhere else to go.

She unlocks the door.

“Where the hell have you been?!”

Daniel’s voice reaches her before she can close it.

Annie hangs her coat, slips off her shoes, keeps her movements steady. “I was at work. You know that.”

“You got off at three.”

“I stayed downstairs for a bit.”

“Doing what?”

“It was cold.”

“So you decided to waste money instead?” He gestures toward the living room. “Gas isn’t free, Annie. We have bills. We have an apartment. And in case you forgot, I can’t exactly leave it.”

She looks at him, really looks. He’s reclined on the couch in the same position she left him in that morning, thinner than he used to be, eyes locked on the television.

“I know you can’t,” she says quietly. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Not often enough.”

The words settle heavy in her chest.

She turns toward the kitchen.

On the counter sits a fruit basket, cellophane crinkling under the overhead light. One of many.

Her eyes flick toward it, then away.

At first, they make her feel seen.

Now they feel like reminders. Like expectations.

And for a moment, standing there, her mind drifts.

It wasn’t like this eight months ago.

After their anniversary, Annie and Daniel grow closer, not farther apart. The words I love you don’t scare them once they’re said. They settle into each other easily: shared routines, shared stress, shared plans.

Two months later, Annie lies stretched out on the couch, textbooks open but ignored, craving lo mein and not the walk.

“Babyyyyy….”she says, tipping her head back to look at him. “I really don’t feel like moving.”

Daniel lifts an eyebrow. “You never do when it’s Chinese.”

She smiles, lazy and soft. “I ordered you some too.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

She reaches for his sleeve. “Please? I’ll quiz you when you get back. Cardiac meds. Side effects. You’re terrible at those.”

“You owe me.” he says, already smiling.

“I always do.”

They’re both in university then, both studying to become traveling nurses. They talk about states like postcards: California, Washington, somewhere overseas if they’re brave enough. Helping people. Seeing the world. Doing it together.

Daniel kisses her forehead, grabs his jacket, and heads out the door.

He never comes back the same.

An SUV runs a red light. A drunk driver.

Daniel’s body slams into a light post hard enough to stop everything.

His legs never work again. His head injury leaves something inside him exposed. Emotions snap without warning, like live wires stripped of insulation. Anger comes fast. Fear comes faster. Seizures follow.

The doctors explain it gently. The damage isn’t intentional. The part of his brain that regulates emotion has been compromised. Every seizure makes it worse.

Knowing that doesn’t make it easier.

Annie drops out of school temporarily. Just until things stabilize.

She picks up every shift she can: warehouse nights, grocery mornings, waiting tables in the evenings. Sleep comes in fragments.

Daniel’s mother is with them in the beginning. She stays the first few weeks, helping where she can. But the New Jersey cold seeps into her joints and makes everything ache. Eventually, she does what she can before returning to Arizona. She calls often. She sends gift baskets every month.

The settlement is coming. Eventually.

Until then, Annie carries the weight.

“What’s for lunch?” Daniel says, eyes still on the TV. “Or should I say dinner, since you like staying out so late?”

The present snaps back into place.

“It was ONLY two hours…” Annie says, and immediately regrets it.

She feels it the moment the words leave her mouth.

“I’ll make steak.” she adds quickly. Trying to de-escalate what she knows is already coming “Your favorite! With the garlic mashed potatoes.”

“You think that makes up for it?” His voice rises. “I can’t even leave this apartment. And you think because you help me a little, you get to disappear?”

“I didn’t disappear…”

He grabs a mug from the coffee table.

It leaves his hand fast enough that Annie barely has time to duck. It shatters against the wall behind her, ceramic scattering across the floor.

The room goes silent.

Her heart slams. A moment passes

“What the hell, Daniel!!” she shakingly yells!

“Fuck you!” he says. “I don’t know why I ever loved you.”

She swallows, trembling and mumble something under her breath.

“What did you say?” he snaps. “Speak up.”

He reaches for the remote and mutes the television.

The apartment goes quiet.

No TV. No traffic. Just breathing.

“This isn’t what I signed up for.” Annie says clearly this time.

Daniel’s breathing speeds up. Too fast. Too shallow.

Her own stays controlled, like she’s waiting for something to break.

His thoughts crash into one another until only one remains, loud enough to silence the rest.

She wants to leave me.

Daniel tries to respond, but his mouth doesn’t move the way he tells it to.

What’s happening—

“Oh. Fuck.”

“Daniel?” Annie says sharply.

His hands twitch.

“Daniel!” she shouts, already moving toward him.

His body goes rigid.

Shaking.

His breathing turns uneven, shallow and fast, like he can’t pull in enough air no matter how hard he tries. Annie drops to her knees beside the couch, counting under her breath, watching the clock on her phone without really seeing it.

When it ends, he’s left limp, sweat soaking through his shirt.

She calls 911.

The hospital lights are too bright. Everything smells like disinfectant and something metallic she can’t place. Annie sits with her hands folded in her lap, staring at a crack in the floor tile across from her feet.

A doctor comes out eventually. He speaks gently. He always does.

“This seizure was more intense than the last one” he says. “Each episode increases emotional instability. The regulation doesn’t improve.”

“So it gonna worse…” Annie says.

The doctor hesitates.

“Yes.”

She nods. She already knew.

He lingers longer than necessary, lowering his voice. “It may be time to consider more support. More than one therapy session a week. Or a different level of care.”

Then he leaves, giving her space to think.

Annie steps into the hallway and pulls her phone from her pocket. Her fingers hover before she presses the name.

“Hello?”

“I—” Her voice breaks. “I can’t do this anymore.”

On the other end of the line, there’s a breath. A slow exhale.

“Oh,” Daniel’s mother says softly. “That’s okay, sweetheart.”

Annie closes her eyes. Tears slip free, silent and hot.

“You’re not his wife,” his mother continues. “You didn’t make vows. You were a wonderful girlfriend. And it’s okay to say when something is too much.”

Annie covers her mouth.

“I’ve been looking into places,” she says. “Closer to me. Somewhere warm. Somewhere he can get proper care.”

“You have?” Annie asks.

“Yes. I didn’t want you to think I was taking him away. But this shouldn’t be on you.”

All she asks is that Annie stay until she arrives.

“I can do that.” Annie says.

“I know you can.”

They hang up.

Daniel is awake when Annie returns to the room.

He’s hooked to monitors, wires taped to his chest, an IV running into his arm. His eyes flick toward her when she sits beside the bed.

“Why…” he rasps, “..are you still here?”

“I’m waiting for your mom.” Annie says.

He swallows. “You…deserve…better.”

She doesn’t answer that.

She takes his hand instead.

“So do you,” she says quietly.

His eyes fill. He blinks, slow and heavy, fighting sleep.

“I love you.” he says.

Annie leans forward, resting her forehead against their joined hands.

“I love you too.” she whispers.