He doesn’t want to hurt me.
But not wanting to hurt me still hurts.
I lie here, trying to decide whether to follow him or let him go.
Each time I try to get up, I stop.
If he wanted to be with me, he’d be here.And that thought shatters me all over again.
Feeling unwanted is the worst kind of pain.
Maybe I am turning him off.
Maybe Iamhalf a woman now.
No uterus.
No ability to carry a child.
Just scars and hot flashes and a body that reminds him of everything we lost.
The heat radiates through me, sticky and uncomfortable. I should be flushed from being with him, not from hormones reminding me of what’s gone.
Instead of passion and connection, all I have is this empty bed.
And every one of my fears staring back at me.
***
Princess is snuggled against me. I’ve turned away from the doorway, having given up on waiting for Colt to return. The clockreads eight in the morning—at least I got just over three hours of sleep.
She lifts her head at a sound, but I don’t bother looking. I lie here, staring at the curtains covering the balcony doors.
The bed dips behind me.
I consider turning, but I’m too tired, too emotionally spent.
Numb, if I’m honest.
The covers shift. Then Colt’s arm wraps around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. Tears spill again. It feels so right—his warmth, his hold—but everything he did last night proved that what I feel might not matter.
He left.
That says it all.
“Baby, I’m sorry I made you cry last night,” he whispers, kissing the space just behind my ear. I sniff and wipe at the tears falling again. “Are you crying now?” he asks gently. I don’t respond. “I’m sorry. Just… know that I love you. I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing. I don’t want to hurt you physically, but I still ended up breaking you emotionally. I’m a bloody twat,” he mutters, kissing behind my ear again. “I love you. So damn much. Please believe that.”
I say nothing. Just slide my hand down to rest over his, where it’s splayed across my stomach.
He holds me tighter. We lie in silence, time ticking by, both of us drowning in thoughts. He’s waiting for me to say something, but I don’t know what to say.
Words aren’t enough.
Not this time.
It takes an hour before I can even turn to face him. The exhaustion in his eyes matches my own, and somehow, that helps. He pulls me close, his hand brushing my cheek. His gaze is soft, remorseful.
But that doesn’t erase the fact that he didn’t want to stay.
