Chapter Text
"Alright, it's time for bed, little detective," Rodger said softly, his eye fixed on Toodles as he gently scooped her up before she could dart away.
"Noo! I wanna stay awake longer!" Toodles protested, squirming in his grip. "I wanna wait for Mom!"
Rodger’s lens seemed to soften, his movement steady despite her attempts to break free. "Alright, alright. We'll wait for your mom. But after that, bedtime, okay?"
"Yay!" Toodles cheered, her face lighting up with excitement. Rodger set her back down, and they both plopped down on the couch in the living room, staring at the empty space in front of them.
They waited. And waited. The minutes dragged on, thick and heavy. Toodles tried her best to fight sleep, her small hands rubbing her eyes, but the battle was slowly lost. Soon, her head lulled to the side, her breath slowing.
Rodger blinked, a slow and deliberate motion, then lifted her into his arms again. He carried her to her room and tucked her into bed with care. His magnified gaze lingered on her for a moment, making sure she was tucked in snugly, before glancing at the clock on the wall. 11:50 p.m.
Where was Teagan? His eye narrowed slightly, the faintest trace of worry flickering across its surface. Where was his wife? Where was Toodles' mother?
He returned to the living room, settling into the couch. He waited—his body still, his eye fixed on the doorway as though willing her to walk through it.
But the silence dragged on.
The cracks in their relationship were becoming more apparent with each passing day. He wasn’t blind to it, even though his one eye could only see so much. He had seen the signs—Teagan's distance, the way she avoided him, avoided Toodles. Sometimes, when their gazes met, there was a hesitation in hers, a flicker of something that was no longer love.
Rodger's gaze dropped to his own reflection in the coffee table—a magnifying lens for a face, an eye where once there had been a person. He tried not to think about it too much, but the truth was clear: their connection was slipping.
Teagan had stopped saying it. “I love you,” those words that once seemed so natural between them, now felt hollow. She couldn’t even say them without her eyes darting away.
Rodger didn’t care if they were lies. It was their lie, and it had been enough. He remembered the early days—the warmth of her touch, the laughter they shared, how they promised each other forever. He remembered the proposal, the joy in her eyes as she said yes. It was supposed to be a forever love.
But forever was fading.
And now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that things were irreparably broken.
But he couldn’t make her leave. He couldn’t bring himself to ask for a divorce. Not with Toodles. She couldn’t ever think it was her fault. Not for their struggles, not for the slow drift between him and Teagan. Toodles had never done anything to cause this. She was innocent—so full of life, so full of love. Roger couldn’t let her carry that burden.
He turned his focus back to the clock—11:55 p.m. His eye flicked back toward the door.
It was too late to reach out, too late to confront her. The distance had grown so vast that it felt impossible to cross. He’d already tried. She’d shut him out. Now all he had were these long, silent waits.
Rodger sighed, the sound faint in the quiet room, and then, defeated, closed his eye. Sleep tugged at him, and despite everything, despite the worry gnawing at him, he let himself rest. It was what he could do for now.
Maybe she’d be home when he woke. Maybe she’d walk in the door, and everything would go back to how it was.
But as he drifted into an uneasy slumber, he couldn't shake the thought that things would never be the same again.
"Where are you, Teagan?" His thoughts whispered, though there was no one there to answer.
And the room, too, remained silent. Only the tick of the clock, steady and relentless, filling the space.