Chapter 53
Aurora
For seconds, he looks between his wristwatch and me, a mix of resignation and bitterness in his expression. I wish there were a hint of hope in his demeanor, but all I see is the cold white-blue light of the bar.
With just my gaze, I plead for him to stay. To bear the silence, I take a sip of my cocktail.
Now he stands up. "Time is up."
No, he can't do that. Not before he hears what I've been trying to tell him all this time!
But should I force him to stay? Is it right to stand in his way and undermine his decision?
"I wasn't honest with you," I say hastily, and my stomach immediately knots up. "I was scared, and I still am. But I have to tell you the whole truth." I want him to see the world through my eyes for just one moment. And feel what I feel.
The helplessness. The weakness. The guilt.
He hesitates in his movement. "What?"
I exhale forcefully. "When we met again, I couldn't think clearly. I..."
It takes forever, but eventually, he sinks back into the chair. "What?"
My fingers fumble nervously around the ice-cold stem of my glass.
It has to happen now.
Now or never.
"You think I'm a fighter, and I used to think that too. But that's not true." I lower my gaze to the yellow cocktail umbrella in my glass. "The truth is, I've always wanted to be a fighter." That's a difference, and it's a significant one.
I cautiously glance at him. He shakes his head, as if he can't comprehend what he just heard. I have to keep going. Just stubbornly keep going and say what needs to be said.
"In the past few days, I've been wondering when exactly our relationship broke." Hopefully, he'll notice that I saidrelationshipand notlove. Because the feelings are still there, at least for me.
"When you decided all on your own that we should break up." Filled with disappointment, he hurls the words at me and raises his glass to take a big sip.
"Really?" I ask, no longer trying to hide my fear.
"Get to the point, Aurora." His expression silently adds,I can't take this any longer.
"Not even back then, when I wanted to ignore my pregnancy while you loved our baby unconditionally from the start?" I ask meekly. He looks at me intently, and I think I can see him searching for an answer in his mind. "Or not even back then, when you made it clear to me that dancing was your only chance for a good life?" I dare to add, because that is also true. "Or when I decided to lie to you so that you could continue with Alice?"
The anger that had just dominated his expression transforms. "Or when I began clinging to that lie because it felt like the last straw I had left?" he says in a toneless voice.
I resist the urge to press my lips together to stop them from trembling. "Perhaps even when the miscarriage ripped theground from under my feet, and I convinced myself I had to be strong."
"Maybe when I forced myself to dance the mambo with Alice at the tournament," he adds, his forehead creasing with concern. "Our dance..."
The dance of our hope. "...that I couldn't dance with you anymore." Because I was so afraid of reliving the miscarriage in my thoughts again and again. Because I was certain I couldn't be strong if I let go of control. I reach for his hand. "We both made mistakes."
He doesn't reply, but at least he doesn't pull his hand away either.
"My mistakes, however, were much bigger than yours." That's the truth, and it will always be.
He lifts his eyelids. "You should have talked to me. Long before the selection show in Lyon."
"Yes." Swallowing hard, I reach for his other hand. "I should have shown you more clearly the wound that the miscarriage had torn open inside me. I should have asked for your help."
