Why Didn't You
SARAH
He reaches for his shirt, trying to stand up so he can slip it back on, but he falls.
I run toward him, catching him before he hits the ground. “Wait...maybe you should sit down. Maybe the injuries are worse than they look.”
He doesn't argue. I help him back toward the bed, steadying his weight with one arm around his back.
“Why don’t you lie down?” I say gently.
“No, I have to go,” he replies, shaking his head even though his voice wavers.
But the dogs are still barking outside, loud, relentless. I glance toward the window.
“They're probably still looking for you,” I say, “It’s not the right time to go out there. Especially in this condition. They’ll catch you, or worse....something worse will happen to you.”
He’s about to protest, but I shake my head and press him toward the bed. “Just lie down,” I say again, this time more firmly. I help him ease onto the mattress and slip off his shoes.
His shirt is still in his hands. I take it from him, setting it aside.
“Have you eaten?” I ask, suddenly aware of how pale and worn out he looks. “Can I get you something? I don’t know...maybe some water?”
He doesn’t respond immediately, but I can tell he’s finally stopped fighting.
“Okay,” I say, standing. “Just stay here… and be quiet.”
I slip quietly out of the room, my heart racing. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if this is smart or stupid, but he can’t go back out there like that. Not tonight.
I make my way to the kitchen, the house quiet except for the muffled barking outside. I grab a glass of water, then rummage through the pantry until I find some bread and fruit. It’s simple, but it’ll have to do. I move quickly, quietly, like I’m doing something wrong.
By the time I return to my room, he’s sitting up on the bed, shirt still off, his back hunched, one hand pressed to his side. He looks up at me when I walk in.
“I told you I’d be fine,” he mutters, but his voice is weak.
“Yeah, and I told you to stay quiet,” I say, walking over to him. I hand him the water first. “Drink.”
He takes it, and I can’t help but watch his face as he drinks. He looks exhausted, like he's been running for more than just one night. Like he's been running from something more.
“I brought some food,” I say, setting the small plate down on my nightstand.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, and I hear the hesitation in his voice. Like he’s not sure about this.
I sit at the edge of the bed, far enough not to touch him, but close enough to watch him. For a few minutes, there’s nothing but silence between us. He eats slowly, like every bite hurts, but he doesn’t complain.
When he finishes, he leans back against the pillows and closes his eyes. I think maybe he’s asleep until he speaks. Until he says, slowly, almost like a whisper but it's just the two of us in here, so I can hear him clearly,
“Why didn’t you come out to see me?” he asks.
I go tense all of a sudden, and he must see that, because he raises his head and looks at me.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to answer that. It’s okay if you didn’t want to see me either. I’m not asking because I’m mad or angry. I think I was stupid to expect you would just do it, that I would just ask you for something and you would immediately do it. Because you’ve been asking me for months to be your husband and I never listened. Not once so why should you listen to me the one time I do?”
Then he looks away from me again. I swallow hard.
"But it’s been itching at me..." He says
I know he’s waiting.
“So if it’s not too much to ask… can you tell me why?” he continues, his voice soft but persistent. “I just want to know. I want to know if you don’t want to... I want to try. I want to make this work. I want to know that you also want to make this marriage work. But if you’re done… I just want to know what I’m dealing with here. So please, just give me the one thing. Just that one.”
I look at him. I look at the way his face is tired, how his body is bruised, how he shouldn't even be here, and yet he is. And somehow, that makes me even more confused. I sit on the edge of the bed, near where he lies. I don't face him fully, but my hands are in my lap, fingers twisted together.
“I don’t know,” I finally say, my voice low. “I wanted to. I really did. I even thought about it the whole night. I didn’t sleep. I was just thinking… and thinking.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I feel his eyes on me.
“I guess I was scared,” I admit. “Scared of what you might say. Scared of what I might feel. Scared that maybe… maybe you meant it, and I didn’t know what to do with that. Or maybe you didn’t mean it, and I’d just get hurt again. I didn’t want to go backwards, Cullen. I didn’t want to fall into something only to have it blow up in my face again.”
Silence stretches between us, but it’s not a cold silence. This one seems monumental.
“I wasn’t trying to punish you by not showing up,” I add. “I just… didn’t know how to move forward, and if moving forward was the right choice. So I stayed still.”
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