CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT

**GABRIEL**
The silence was unbearable.
Every morning, every night, every moment in between, Oliver’s quiet disdain weighed heavily on me. It wasn’t just the lack of words; it was the absence of connection, the cold barrier he’d erected between us. I could feel it in the way he avoided my eyes, the way he lingered in the kitchen until I left the room, the way his footsteps echoed through the hall without a single glance in my direction.
I was losing him.
And I couldn’t let that happen.
The idea came to me late one evening as I sat alone in the dimly lit living room, nursing a glass of wine. The space felt hollow, much like the tension between us, and I found myself staring at the empty seat where he used to sit. I thought about the nights we used to spend here together, laughing, talking, sharing quiet moments that felt so natural.
I wanted that back.
No. I needed that back.
If words couldn’t break through his walls, maybe actions could.
The next afternoon, I threw myself into preparations with a single-minded focus, pouring all my energy into crafting something meaningful. The idea of a candlelit dinner crossed my mind, and though it seemed cliché, I decided to embrace it. Sometimes clichés worked because they spoke a language everyone understood—a language of effort, of care, of wanting to make someone feel special. That was all I wanted: to get his attention, to show him that I wasn’t giving up, even if he seemed determined to shut me out.
I spent hours planning every detail, determined to create a setting that would make him pause, even if just for a moment. I knew this wasn’t a magical fix; a pretty table and soft lighting wouldn’t erase the hurt or the betrayal. But it was a start—a small offering to show him how much I cared, how deeply I regretted the pain I had caused, and how far I was willing to go to fight for us.
I moved the coffee table aside and replaced it with a small, round table draped in a crisp white cloth. A bottle of red wine and two glasses sat in the center, surrounded by candles of varying heights. Their soft, flickering light cast a warm glow across the room, transforming it into something intimate and inviting.
Rose petals—red, pink, and white—were scattered across the floor, leading from the doorway to the table. I’d taken my time arranging them, carefully ensuring they formed a path that couldn’t be ignored.
By the time I finished, the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. I turned off the overhead lights, letting the candles take over. The living room looked like something out of a dream, a space brimming with quiet hope and unspoken promises.
Now all I had to do was wait.
I sat in the middle of the room, checking my watch every few minutes, my heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and dread. The silence in the room was almost suffocating, and I couldn’t shake the gnawing fear that he might not come at all. What if he saw all of this, the table, the candles, the rose petals, and simply turned away? What if it wasn’t enough to pull him back, to make him see that I was trying? I felt like I was teetering on the edge of something, waiting for a sign that things might finally begin to heal between us—or that they would shatter beyond repair.
Then, the sound of footsteps on the stairs snapped me out of my thoughts. My heart leapt in my chest as I turned toward the doorway. The moment felt surreal, like time had slowed, and everything around me faded into the background.
Oliver stepped into the room, his brows furrowing slightly as he took in the sight before him. His gaze swept over the rose petals scattered across the floor, the table set with such careful intention, the flickering candles casting soft shadows along the walls. He paused for a moment, his eyes lingering on the details before they finally landed on me. For a brief instant, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or curiosity. It was there and then gone, quickly replaced by that same guarded, unreadable expression that had become so familiar to me.
But then it was gone.
He straightened, his expression hardening as he moved to step around me.
“Oliver,” I called softly, standing as he walked past me.
He didn’t answer.
“Oliver, wait,” I said, reaching out to grab his arm. The touch was light, hesitant, but enough to make him stop.
He turned to me, his jaw clenched, his eyes unreadable. “What do you want, Gabriel?”
His tone was cold, cutting, and it made my chest ache, the words slicing through the air like a sharp blade. Each syllable felt like an icy gust, stinging as it passed through me. I could almost feel the weight of his anger pressing down on me, suffocating the hope I’d so desperately been holding onto. His voice held nothing but distance, and it crushed me, a stark reminder of how far apart we had become 
“I want to talk,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “I want to fix this.”
“There’s nothing to fix,” he replied, pulling his arm free from my grasp. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“No,” I interrupted, stepping in front of him. “I can’t keep doing this, Oliver. I can’t keep living like this.”
He raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then don’t.”
His words stung, but I refused to back down. “How long are you going to keep this up? How long are you going to shut me out?”
“As long as I need to,” he said simply.
“And what about me?” I asked, my voice rising. “Don’t I matter in this? Doesn’t what we had matter?”
His eyes flickered, but he quickly looked away. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is,” I insisted. “You’re angry. I get that. You have every right to be. But this silence, this… this distance—it’s killing me, Oliver. And I know it’s killing you too.”
He said nothing, his gaze fixed on the floor.
“I’m trying,” I continued, my voice softer now. “I’m trying to make things right. But I can’t do it alone. I need you to meet me halfway.”
He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Halfway? You left, Gabriel. You walked away. And now you expect me to just… forget that?”
“I’m not asking you to forget,” I said quickly. “I’m asking you to let me in. To give me a chance to make up for what I did.”
“And what if I can’t?” he shot back, his voice breaking. “What if I can’t forgive you? What if every time I look at you, all I see is what you did? What if—”
“Then tell me,” I interrupted, stepping closer. “Tell me, Oliver. Say the words. If you don’t want this—if you don’t want me—then say it. But don’t leave me in this limbo. Don’t make me keep guessing.”
He looked at me then, really looked at me, and for a moment, I thought I saw the wall crack—the faintest flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, a brief crack in the armor he had built around himself. It was almost as if I could see the conflict brewing inside him, the battle between the anger and the hurt, the pain of everything that had happened. 
But before I could hold onto that fragile moment, he shook his head, and the softness vanished like a dream slipping through my fingers. His expression hardened once more, the walls returning, impenetrable and unyielding. The distance between us felt even greater now, like I was staring at a stranger I once knew intimately, but who had since disappeared behind a mask of indifference.
“I’m tired, Gabriel,” he said quietly. “I’m tired of this, of you, of everything.”
His words hit me like a physical blow, and I felt my knees weaken.
“But you know what I’m more tired of?” he continued, his voice trembling with barely contained emotion. “I’m tired of hoping. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, things could go back to the way they were. Hoping that I could trust you again. Hoping that this… this pain would go away.”
“Oliver—”
“I can’t do it,” he said, cutting me off. “I can’t pretend like everything’s fine. Because it’s not.”
He took a step back, preparing to leave again, and panic rose in my chest. “Oliver, wait!”
He paused, his back to me.
“I know I hurt you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “And I know I don’t deserve anything from you, not after what I did. But I’m still here. I didn’t leave this time. Doesn’t that count for something?”
He didn’t turn around, but I saw his shoulders sag ever so slightly.
“It does,” he admitted after a long pause. “But I’m still not ready, Gabriel. I can’t just…”
“Take you  time,” I said quickly. “I’ll wait. However long it takes, I’ll wait.”
Finally, he turned to face me, his expression softer now, though still guarded. “I don’t know if I can promise you anything.”
“I don’t need promises,” I said. “I just need you to let me try.”
For the first time in weeks, he nodded. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was enough.
And for the first time in weeks, I felt hope.