Eight Years of Part Time Love

Late at night, while scrolling through a relationship forum, a post caught my eye. Dating my girlfriend for five years, but she refuses to get a marriage license.

Is it worth staying? The comment section was already flooded with people calling the original poster a hopeless fool.

As the page kept refreshing with new replies, I decided to leave a comment of my own. “My girlfriend belongs to an offgrid, matriarchal community.

We’ve lived in a ‘visitor’s union’ for eight years.” “No marriage license, no wedding.

She treats our apartment like a hotel, coming and going as she pleases.” “Most months, we don’t even see each other once.” “The child stays with her.

He’s seven now, and he’s never called me Dad.” “Oh, and she has a childhood sweetheart from her community.

When she’s not with me, she’s with him.” Within minutes, my comment blew up. The upvotes quickly surpassed the original post.

The author of the thread replied to me with genuine pity. “Man, you definitely have it worse.” I hovered my thumb over the screen just as a notification from my airline app popped up, reminding me of my upcoming flight.

Yes, it was pathetic. So I gave up.

Maybe this relationship was doomed from the very beginning—eight years ago, when I first climbed the ladder to her loft. … “What are you looking at?” Wren’s voice startled me from behind.

I quickly locked my phone screen and glanced at the wall clock. Ten o’clock. This was the first time she had come home this month. “Nothing.” Wren didn’t pry.

She opened the closet and began pulling out the last few items of her clothing, announcing her plans as casually as she always did. “The long holiday weekend is coming up.

I’m taking Troy and Cody back to our community on the Lost Coast.” I froze midmotion, slowly turning to look at her. She had promised me.

She had sworn that over this long weekend, she would finally make time to go to the hospital with me to see my mother. Troy, our son, turned seven today.

And yet, my mother had never even laid eyes on her own grandson. A bitter tightness seized my throat. I swallowed hard before I could speak. “You promised me, Wren.

You said you’d visit my mom this weekend.” “The hospital is so close. My mom just wants to see Troy. Just once...” She cut me off before I could finish.

Her voice carried that familiar, sharp edge of impatience. “What is there to see? Your mother has been in that hospital forever.

The whole place smells like sickness and death.” “An oncology ward isn't exactly a healthy environment.

What if Troy catches something?” She set her clothes down and met my gaze, her shrug entirely dismissive. “It’s been years, Jesse.

Another day won’t make a difference.” Always the same excuse. I had heard it a hundred times over the last eight years. I looked around the apartment.

Little by little, the traces of her and our son were vanishing. I wondered what she would take next.

Before I could say anything else, the front door—which hadn't been fully latched—swung open.

A small figure burst in, throwing himself into Wren’s arms. “Mommy!” Troy cried, clinging to her. Wren looked up, surprised. “It’s late.

Why did you bring him here?” Cody was leaning against the doorframe, a faint, knowing smirk on his face. “Your son couldn’t stand being away from you for another second.

He insisted on coming.” He looked at her open suitcase. “Packed and ready?” Troy pulled back from Wren’s embrace, his dark eyes locking onto me.

I slowly knelt down, extending my arms. “Troy, come here. Let Daddy give you a hug.” It had been so long since I’d held him.

He had lived with Wren’s family in their matriarchal community since birth, spending far more time with Cody than with me.

Troy pouted, immediately stepping back to grab Cody’s hand. He crossed his arms and made a face at me. “You’re not my daddy!” My hands froze in midair.

Cody’s smirk widened into a triumphant grin as he swept Troy up into his arms. “Sorry, Jesse. Looks like your kid just likes me better.” Wren, as usual, did nothing to defend me.

She simply sighed. “He’s just a kid. When he’s older, he’ll understand.” She zipped her suitcase and handed it to Cody.

As he reached for it, my eyes caught the object clenched in his other hand. A handwoven, patterned wool sash. A cold, ringing static filled my ears.

In Wren’s community, they exchanged handcrafted tokens of commitment. Eight years ago, when I climbed the ladder to her loft, she had given me a handcarved silver haircomb.

But this woven sash... I had seen it before. I had found it halffinished in her bag months ago and assumed she was making it for me.

When I asked her about it, she had screamed at me, accusing me of invading her privacy. Now, I knew. It was for Cody. A deep, bonechilling cold settled over me.

I stood frozen, my eyes locked onto the sash. Cody noticed where I was looking.

He offered a small, smug wave of his hand, not saying a word, but letting his eyes do all the talking.

I clenched my fists so tightly my nails bit into my palms, the sharp pain pulling me back to reality. Just as they turned to leave, I finally spoke. “Wren.

Take this with you, too.” Wren’s eyes dilated the moment she saw what was in my hand. “What is this supposed to mean?” Her face went pale. The silver comb lay flat in my palm.

I held out the very token she had given me all those years ago. Even Cody’s smile vanished.

In their community, returning a token of commitment was the ultimate insult—a public declaration of divorce and a deep embarrassment.

Wren grit her teeth. “Are you losing your mind, Jesse?

Just because I didn’t agree to visit your mother right this second?” “Is this really worth throwing a tantrum over?” My arm began to ache from holding it out.

The air in the room felt thick, suffocating. Wren let out a sharp, bitter laugh. She stepped forward and snatched the silver comb from my hand.

Before I could even blink, she threw it violently against the hardwood floor. Crack.

The metal shattered, and a flying fragment nicked my cheek, leaving a stinging line of warmth. “Satisfied?

You are completely unreasonable.” The door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the empty apartment.

I stood there for a long time, staring at the broken silver pieces scattered across the floor. A deep, physical ache bloomed in my chest.

Eight years ago, during our union ceremony, she had held my hand, pressed this comb into my palm, and whispered, “To the end of the road, through the highs and the lows.” Back then, her eyes had been so bright, so full of love.

Now, there was nothing left. I knelt down and slowly swept the broken pieces into my hand. I had carried this comb next to my heart for eight years.

In the end, its only destination was the trash can. A single tear slipped down my face, landing on the dusty floor. Suddenly, my phone vibrated violently. I wiped my eyes quickly.

It was the hospital. “Mr. Campbell? Your mother’s vitals are dropping. You need to get here as soon as possible.” Without a second thought, I rushed out the door.

My mother had been diagnosed with terminal cancer two years ago. There was no cure; we were just buying time.

In the ICU, she was hooked up to a labyrinth of tubes, her hand resting on the edge of the mattress, thin and paperlike. I knelt by her bedside and squeezed her hand.

She was conscious, her breathing shallow and labored. “Jesse... when can I see Troy? I’m afraid...

I won’t make it.” Tears welled in her hollow eyes, spilling over her temple and soaking into the pillow. I squeezed her hand tighter, my voice thick. “I’ll call Wren.

I’ll make sure she brings Troy right now.” I stepped out into the sterile, quiet hallway, my fingers trembling so hard I could barely unlock my screen.

It rang for a long time before someone finally picked up. But it wasn't Wren. “Uncle Jesse? Why are you calling?” Uncle.

The word pierced right through me, a brutal reminder of how distant my own son was. I opened my mouth, but my throat was so dry no words came out.

Only a ragged breath escaped. “Mommy, Daddy, and I are taking family photos right now. Don’t bother us.” The line went dead. I stood frozen, the dial tone buzzing in my ear.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to look composed, and walked back into the room.

My mother’s eyes flared with a sudden, desperate hope. “Are they coming?” Looking at her fragile, expectant face, the truth lodged itself in my throat.

I couldn't bring myself to say the words. The silence in the room stretched. Slowly, the light in my mother’s eyes faded.

Her tense shoulders relaxed, and she sank back into the pillows, letting out a soft, tired sigh. “It’s okay... at least I have you, my boy.” “I’ll never forget the day you came home eight years ago, your eyes shining, telling me you’d found the love of your life.” “As long as you're happy, Jesse.” But was I happy?

I stared at my dark phone screen, lost in a daze. I stayed by her bedside for twentyfour hours, barely moving.

The next afternoon, as I was waiting in the hospital lobby to pick up her pain medication, Wren burst through the sliding doors, frantic and breathless. “I knew you’d be here.” Without giving me a chance to speak, she grabbed my arm and tried to drag me toward the emergency wing. “Troy ran into the street.

Cody threw himself in front of a car to save him. He’s badly hurt.” “He’s lost too much blood, and they need a donor. Your blood types match.” She was sweating, her voice shaking.

But as she pulled, my feet remained glued to the floor. She spun around, furious. “What are you doing?!” “He’s hurt and needs blood.

What does that have to do with me?” Wren stared at me, her eyes wide with utter disbelief.

Her lips trembled. “He saved your son!” “The boy who has never once called me Dad.” Wren shook with rage.

Through the glass partition of the nearby trauma bay, I could see Cody lying on a gurney, pale and covered in blood. “Didn’t your mother want to see Troy?” Wren let go of my arm, her voice dropping to a cold, transactional whisper. “If you do this, I’ll bring Troy to see her.

If you don't, I swear to God, she will die without ever laying eyes on her grandson.” The threat struck like a physical blow.

My mother’s fragile, hollow face flashed in my mind. “Fine.” I looked her dead in the eye. “Keep your word.” I sat in the blood donation chair, watching my blood drain into the plastic bag.

It was only when the doctor announced that Cody was out of danger that Wren finally let out a long breath, cradling Troy in her arms.

I leaned against the wall, my head spinning from the blood loss. “Can we take Troy to my mother’s room now?

It’s just down the hall.” Wren rubbed her temples, her expression twisting with irritation. “Can’t this wait until Cody wakes up?

If it weren't for Cody, your mother wouldn't even have a grandson to see.

Do you have to be so relentless?” She looked up at me, but when she saw how pale and bloodless my face was, she hesitated, her voice softening slightly. “Your mom’s room is so sterile.

Troy’s immune system is weak. You know how easily he gets sick.” “How about tomorrow?

You bring your mom out of her room, and we’ll meet in the courtyard.” I let out a dry, bitter laugh. My mother was on life support. How was she supposed to go to a courtyard?

I turned and walked back to my mother’s room. I told her about the arrangement. I wanted to tell her to forget it, that they weren't worth it.

But my mother’s eyes flared with sudden life. She nodded eagerly. “I can do that, Jesse. The doctors gave me some new meds. I have energy now. Tomorrow.

Let's do it tomorrow!” I swallowed the lump in my throat, looking at how she was willing to drag her dying body just to catch a glimpse of the child. “Okay,” I whispered. “I’ll arrange it.” That evening, I went back to the apartment to pack some things.

Wren and Troy were there. Troy was asleep on the guest bed, and Wren was sitting on the sofa, waiting for me. I was too tired for another fight.

I turned toward my room. “You’ve been acting strange lately,” she called out. “I’m home, and you don’t even say a word.” “What do you want me to say?

Welcome back?” Wren’s face faltered. She stood up. “Jesse, if you really don’t want to live in a visitor’s union anymore... we can get married.

I’ll sign the papers.” “After all, it’s been eight years...” If she had said this a year ago, I would have been too happy to sleep. But now, hearing it, I felt absolutely nothing.

My life didn't have to revolve around her anymore. Before I could answer, she added, “Next week. Next Tuesday, we’ll go to City Hall and get the marriage license.” Next Tuesday.

The exact day I had arranged to transfer my mother to a hospice care facility closer to my hometown.

I had kept her here in the city only because she wanted to be close to Wren and Troy. “We’ll see,” I said, and closed the bedroom door, shutting out her complicated, lingering gaze.

The next morning, I dressed my mother in her favorite sweater and pushed her wheelchair to the small bistro near the hospital that Wren had booked.

Maybe it was the medication, or maybe it was the sheer force of will to see her grandson, but she looked better than she had in months.

She breathed through her portable oxygen tank, her eyes glued to the restaurant door. “Jesse... they’re coming, right?” I check my phone.

Ten minutes ago, Wren texted saying she was on her way. Minutes tick by. The waiter came to our table three times, asking if we're ready to order. I called Wren. No answer.

I knew then. She wasn't coming.

I knelt in front of my mother’s wheelchair, taking her cold hands. “Mom, let’s go back.” She looked at the door one last time, her trembling hand adjusting the nasal cannula. “It’s okay...” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t...

I didn’t really need to see them anyway.” Her voice trailed off into nothing. A strange weight settled in her hands. “Mom?” No response.

By the time the paramedics arrived, she was gone. She probably knew her time was up.

She waited as long as she could, but in the end, she left this world with a broken promise hanging over her.

I went through the motions of signing the death certificate, my mind entirely numb. That’s when Wren finally called. “I forgot to tell you, Cody got discharged today.

I had to drive him home and help him settle in. We’ll have to do lunch another time.” “There won’t be another time.” The line went quiet for a second.

Then, her voice sharpens with impatience. “Don’t start, Jesse. I actually had a real emergency today.” I looked down at the death certificate clutched in my fist.

My voice was a raspy whisper. “We’re done, Wren.” When I returned to the apartment, Wren was already there.

She looks furious. “Jesse, can you try to be understanding for once in your life?” “And your mother is ridiculous, constantly demanding to see the kid. We were only a day late.

Do you really have to give me this attitude?” “If it weren't for me, she wouldn't even have a grandson.

Is she really so close to the grave that she can't wait twentyfour hours?” Before she could finish the sentence, my hand flew across her face. The slap echoed in the empty room.

Wren staggers back, clutching her reddened cheek, her eyes wide with shock and hurt. “Fine,” she spits, tears welling up. “Hit me. You knew what this was from day one.

We are in a free union. I don’t belong to you. If you want a traditional little wife so badly, go find someone else!” She slammed the door as she left. I stared at my palm.

If I had known eight years ago that it would end like this, I never would have climbed that ladder. The next day was the day of my flight.

I was supposed to take my mother with me to start a new life. Now, I was carrying her ashes in an urn. As I was packing the last of my things, a package arrived. No return name.

I opened it. Inside were two red leather folders holding a marriage certificate. Wren Cooper and Cody Cross. My phone buzzed immediately. Cody and I signed the papers today.

The wedding is next month. Looking at the texts, a strange, profound lightness washed over me. The heavy stone that had sat on my chest for eight years simply vanished.

It was better this way. No more lingering threads. I pulled my suitcase out to the waiting cab.

The apartment where I spent eight years waiting for her slowly disappeared in the rearview mirror.