And that is why I know that, whether I manage to understand myself or not, I will never be able to take her words as absolute truth. At some point, I will have to accept the very real possibility of having my heart destroyed—and confront Nero.
At some point, I will need to hear him, to give him the chance to explain how all the recent events can coexist with the reality in which he is the man in love who promised to make me the happiest woman in the world.
At some point.
Just not today.
CHAPTER 42
NERO ZANTHOS
She’s gone. Again.
This time, though, it feels much worse. I did everything right. I rummage through my mind for anything that might contradict that—it wouldn’t be the first time I rushed to judge and got it wrong.
But there’s nothing. Not a single action, word, or even thought of mine that could justify her disappearance.
I accepted everything. I wanted everything. I gave absolutely everything of myself to make her dreams my own. To make her feel safe. To make her trust me. To make sure she would never doubt that I never want to be a problem—only part of the solution.
I understand that her life changed completely in a matter of seconds and everything got tangled and confused. Things spun out of control and moved faster than she might have been ready for—but we’re having a child.
There’s no pretending life won’t be different from now on. Still, I expected her to face that change with me. To trust me, damn it.
She was afraid before—fine. I took a little longer than I should have, but I understood. But now? If there was a problem, whatever it was, she needed to talk to me instead of pushing me away like I was an inconvenient visitor. I am the constant. An integral part of the small family we’re building.
Creating distance was a low blow. It makes me feel dispensable. Disposable. And that feeling drags me back to a place of ungrateful memories—abandoned for far too long for me to welcome them now like old friends.
There are few things in life I remember failing at. The possibility that this happened when all I did was try to get it right adds a second layer of gravity, pressing me down, making me feel small and out of place.
And as if that weren’t enough, she told her mother everything was fine. Rosa refused to say a single word about where she went or what she was doing. She didn’t want her mother to worry… Me, on the other hand… discarded. Every small decision she made echoes that same word in my head.
I like to believe that if Nina had told me she needed time—to think, to be alone, even if that meant being away from me—I would have accepted it. I would’ve been pissed, of course. Sad and disappointed too, but I wouldn’t have denied her.
Most likely, I would have taken her myself—my heart heavy as hell—to wherever she chose to be without me. She chose, instead, to leave me in the dark.
I’ve always been afraid of the dark. Being in dimly lit—or completely unlit—rooms fills me with an unbearable anguish, a reminder of my years of abuse. I never allowed myself, however, to fully embrace that weakness. I made a point of immersing myself in it and facing it, because that’s what I do.
With Nina, all I can feel is swallowed whole, crushed—because none of my actions seem to be enough to even be considered… My hands go to my hair on their own, and I don’t even feel pain when I yank at it with all my strength.
A lopsided attempt to stop my thoughts before they lock me, alone, back in that place. The dark is not welcome.
I swallow air with difficulty, feeling as if I’m breathing water. It burns, weighs, hurts. The anxiety I haven’t felt in a long time makes me realize there’s a feeling I despise even more aggressively than helplessness: not being enough.
While I was focused on worrying about her—on whether Nina was okay, whether she felt safe, whether she had everything she needed—there was no room for anything else. Now the relief of that moment has passed and given way to all this torment.
My inner monsters knocked on my door all at once, and too distracted by the emptiness of her absence, I opened it. After a few hours in their company, drowning in thoughts seasoned with bitterness, the only taste I recognize in my mouth is betrayal.
Because that’s what this is, isn’t it?
I don’t understand. I can’t comprehend why she would feel the need to suddenly disappear without a trace. It hasn’t evenbeen two days since we were in our bed, making plans, thinking of names for our baby. I simply can’t understand.
I get lost in a vicious cycle as the hours pass. It always starts with helplessness, moves through the feeling of betrayal, and ends in the true agony of not having Nina within reach of my hands.
I want to fight with her. I want to tell her all the reasons why what she’s doing is wrong. I want to accuse her of irresponsibility and blame her age—but I want her here, in front of me, so I can do all that and then kiss her.
After that, hold her, breathe her in, and demand a promise that she will never do something like this again. Because it doesn’t matter that, at this exact moment, she’s breaking a promise already made—I will believe her. I want to believe her.
The doorbell rings, and I find myself on my feet in front of the door faster than I ever thought possible. Unfortunately, I welcome nothing but disappointment.
