“Baby—” He leans over and reaches for my hand, I pull away, shaking my head, unable to withstand his touch.
“Don’t. Please don’t touch me,” I say.
“I messaged those women when I was at a low point,” he urges, and his voice wobbles. “I’m so sorry,” as he closes his eyes.
This time when he reaches for me, I give in. I have no strength left to fight it. He gently cradles my head in his hands and presses his forehead to mine. Our breaths mingle, our tears mirroring each other.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, as if it’s a mantra. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, “I know you are.”
“I’ve been selfish,” he admits, barely above a whisper. “I’ve taken you for granted, and I hate myself for it. You deserve better than this. Better than me.”
A sob escapes and I turn away as he continues. “I want you to know that there’s nobody on that account who I care about, even as a good friend.”
“Months, Lucas. This has been going on formonths. You told this Katelyn that youlovedher—love.And not just once, you said it a lot.You called herbaby.”I place my hand over my heart, hoping it could somehow keep the shattered pieces together.“That’s what you call me.”
I wait for his response, but nothing comes. We remain in deafening silence.
I finally look at him, seeing the pain and guilt reflected in his gaze.
“April,” he whispers as his eyes glisten with unshed tears, “I don’t know where we go from here.”
I feel a deep, overwhelming ache in my chest, a sense of heartbreak that threatens to consume me. Every fibre of my being longs to lash out at him, to seek answers, and demand he tell me what went wrong, wherewewent wrong. I want toscream, to plead with him to explain why he turned to those women, strangers on the internet, for solace instead of confiding in me, or seeking professional help. What did they offer him that I couldn’t? What void did they fill that I failed to? But I know, deep down, that even if I did scream, even if he did offer explanations, it wouldn’t bring me the peace I crave. It wouldn’t undo the hurt, or the lies.
His actions have irreversibly altered our relationship, shattering the trust I once held so dear. No words could erase this pain. I fear his betrayal is stitched into my soul. And so, I hold back my screams, I stifle my pleas, and I resign myself to the truth: Some fractures are too deep to mend.
Rather than reducing myself to begging, I give up.
Instead, I ask the question that has haunted me for the past twenty-four hours. The question that has been stuck in my throat, squeezing my chest. The question I never thought I would have to ask my fiancé. “Do you still love me?”
His anguished gaze searches mine, darting back and forth, before he slowly closes his eyes in defeat.
“I do love you, April. But I can’t return the depth of affection you have for me. I don’t deserve you. You deserve someone far better than me, someone who can be everything you want and need.”
I close my eyes and bring a shaky hand to my mouth to stifle my sob.
“You are one of my dearest friends, and I am so honoured to know you,” he whispers.
And that’s it. My heart cracks open and bleeds.
“We can’t fix this,” I say softly.
He doesn’t say anything back to me—he doesn’t have to.
At that moment, I realise that this is the end. The end of us.
And finally, once he’s packed his bag and the front door clicks shut, I climb into bed, fully clothed, and pull the duvet over myself.
The silence settles, and I let go, allowing myself to fall apart.
Chapter 10
April
One week later …
As the days drag on, I manage to extract myself from bed and fix a cup of breakfast tea before taking a long shower. I haven’t washed my hair in days, leaving it in a messy topknot, but at least my body feels clean.
