I wanted him to feel the weight of what he took from me. And yet I couldn’t walk away. I didn’t hate him enough to leave, I loved him just enough to stay. And that love was anchoring me in a marriage that felt both broken and impossible to let go of.
After I finished getting ready and settled onto the bed, I lay on my back, scrolling absentmindedly through my phone—checking messages, rereading a few texts from coworkers, looking at the photos from the event—anything to fill the quiet. I wasn’t expecting anything more than that silence until Adrian suddenly video-called me.
His face appeared on the screen, brown hair slightly tousled, the collar of his shirt loosened. He was clearly already in his hotel room—plain white sheets stretched neatly behind him, and a lamp cast warm light over his shoulders, softening the sharpness of his features. Even through the screen, he still had that look—the kind that could undo me if I ever let it.
“Hey,” he said, voice low but soft.
“Hey,” I replied.
“How was the event?”
“It was fun. Haille really enjoyed it. She played a lot and ate a lot too.”
He smiled faintly, the kind of smile that lingered just a little too long. “And you?”
“It was fine. I’m tired, but... yeah.” I replied, purposely keeping it neutral.
He nodded slowly. “What are you doing now?”
“I was looking through the photos they sent. I’m about to sleep.” I lied, forcing a small yawn to make it believable.
“Oh.” His gaze dipped for a second, almost disappointed. “Send them to me, okay? I want to see too.”
“Sure. I’ll hang up now.”
He leaned forward a little, like he wasn’t ready to let the moment end just yet.
“Elena?” he said quickly, before I could press the button.
“I miss you.”
I paused, just long enough to feel it, but not long enough to show it.
“I know,” I answered quietly.
His eyes softened. “You should rest,” he murmured, even though he clearly wanted to keep talking. “Call me tomorrow?”
“Maybe,” I said, already pulling away from the moment.
He exhaled, the sound weighted. “Goodnight, love.”
“Goodnight.”
I ended the call before he could say anything else. The screen went dark, and the room settled into silence again. I waited for the ache to hit me, but nothing came. And somehow, that hurt even more.
I rested my phone on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of that hollow space inside me. Sometimes I wondered if I was the only one still bleeding from something that happened years ago. Adrian had... adapted. He’d swallowed the guilt, gone to therapy, rebuilt routines, and found a way to keep moving forward.
I wasn’t proud of it. God, sometimes I wished I could hurt less. I wished I could forget. I wished I could breathe without feeling like I was always one heartbeat away from drowning again.
I wanted to be where he was, on the other side of this. But I was still here, stuck on the edge, unable to cross. Not because I didn’t want to, but because the wound was mine, not his.
Healing wasn’t something I could force. I couldn’t sprint through the pain just because he was ready to be forgiven. And sometimes, the cruelest part was realizing that the person whobreaks you learns to move on faster than the one left to live with the cracks.
—?—
Adrian
I missed her. God, I missed her more than I ever thought a person could miss someone and still function normally. Sometimes the ache was so sharp it felt borderline insanity. And what I missed wasn’t just the presence of a wife or a partner—it was her, the version of her that used to be mine without hesitation.
