Page 57 of The Ruin I Chose

“Tell me what to do,” he sighed. “I promise to give it my best. Let’s give this another chance. Let’s give us a chance.”

He pressed his forehead against mine, and we both cried.

Kyra loved us both. Despite being a four-year-old, she was smart enough to notice the cracks, but kind enough never to take sides.

After much deliberation, I decided to try. Not for Vihaan. For Kyra. To see if things could change so we could have a ‘whole family.’

I couldn’t bring myself to tell him about Marcello. That was a secret I would keep for life. A good memory. A beautiful mistake. One I’d carry like a scar beneath my clothes—silent, permanent. One I’d never speak of. Because some loves aren’t meant to be confessed. They’re meant to be mourned.

Swallowed by guilt, I buried my happiness—the memory of him—because I knew I was in the wrong. I had, after all, cheated.

Though Vihaan and I lived like strangers, we weren’t officially separated. We lived in the same house on most days, but slept in separate rooms. But what happened in Italy would stay there.

CHAPTER 23

ROXANNE

For two months, I clung to the hope that this marriage might work.

I poured myself into it—like water into cracked glass, knowing it would cut me when it finally shattered. I kept hoping it would hold. But it kept leaking and I kept shrinking.

I gave it my all. God knows I tried. I really tried. But the silence returned. The distance. The absence of touch and truth.

The same cycle repeated.

We went on two dates—both planned by me. They felt like duties, not memories in the making—hollow evenings I’d forget as soon as they ended.

He was barely present. I spoke. He nodded. We tried to be intimate. I lit candles, wore the lingerie he once liked. I kissed him slowly, hoping he’d remember how to want me—how to see me. How to reach for me like I was still the woman he chose. But his eyes were elsewhere.

I felt like a stranger in my own skin—like desire had moved out and left behind an empty house. All he seemed to care about was finishing and turning away, muttering something about a tiring day, or not being in the right headspace—or the worst:

What if Kyra wakes up?

I couldn’t take it anymore. Something inside me finally cracked and stopped hoping and gave way. The counselling. The endless advice—from friends, family, therapists.

The endless loop of try harder, be patient, he’s a good man.

I was exhausted from resuscitating something that had long stopped breathing. So, I sat Vihaan down. No drama. No shouting. Just truth.

“I’m tired, Vihaan,” I said, my voice steady but frayed.

“Tired in my bones. Tired in my soul—tired in ways sleep couldn’t fix. Tired of pretending this ache is love. I’m tired of pretending we’re okay. Tired of carrying this alone. Tired of feeling like a guest in my own life.”

He didn’t interrupt. I continued.

“I’ve begged for connection for conversation, for touch. I’ve begged to be seen—not as a mother, not as a wife, but as a woman—with needs, with fire, with fragility. And every time I reached out, you turned away. I’ve felt more alone in this marriage than I ever did before it.”

He looked down, his fingers clenched.

“I know you’re not a bad man. You’ve provided, you’ve supported me in ways that matter. But you’ve also made me feel small—so small my own voice started sounding unfamiliar. Like I’m always too much, and somehow still never enough.”

His eyes welled up, but I didn’t stop.

“I can’t do this anymore. Not for Kyra. Not for your family. Not for the version of me that keeps shrinking to fit into this life.

“I’ve lost myself to this marriage. I don’t want my life to be the example Kyra learns from.” I sighed. “She’s watching me shrink, one compromise at a time. And one day, she’ll shrink too—because I showed her how. Seeing me kill my happiness, she’ll do the same. And by then, it’ll be too late.”

He didn’t argue. He just nodded. And that silence said everything. It sounded like acceptance and defeat.