Curiosity
He looked like he wanted to argue—but he didn’t.
“And now… now you think a little hike, a smile, a towel on my head is supposed to fix it all?”
Tears blurred my eyes, and I hated them. Hated him.
“Fuck you.”
My hand struck his chest.
It wasn’t graceful or poetic. I just—snapped.
I hit him again.
“Fuck you Rowan.”
And again.
Over and over, my fists landing against his chest like I could break through whatever was inside him. Like I could make him feel everything I had to carry alone for years.
That I had tried my best to love this man. My first crush. My husband but he had broken me. Broken me beyond repair that I fear that I would never be able to love again.
He didn’t stop me.
He just stood there, eyes shut, breathing through it.
Until I choked on a sob.
He caught my wrist mid-swing—firm, not forceful.
“Let go,” I whispered, my voice cracking.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he pulled me in.
I stumbled into him, fists still trembling, jaw clenched as the sobs came harder.
His arms wrapped around me—strong and grounding.
And I cried.
For everything.
For Jules.
For Claire. For Laura. For Larry.
For every fucking moment I had to survive alone.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
I didn’t respond.
“I’m so sorry, Remi.”
I shoved at him once—but he didn’t move.
And I didn’t really want him to.
Thunder cracked again, closer this time.
Rain pounded the roof.
His hand slid up, brushing my soaked hair from my face as he leaned closer.
“I really wish I can take those memories away. I wish I can erase them. I am so sorry. I want to make this better but I can't. Because are you always running from me?” he said, voice hoarse. “If you want me to try and replace everything… why don’t you let me in?”
My eyes met his.
Red. Wet. Raw.
And I answered honestly.
“It doesn’t work that way.”
Rowan’s POV
She was in my arms.
So close.
So angry.
And then—gone.
She shoved me back with both hands, her eyes fierce. “Don’t you dare think one emotional moment wipes everything clean. I don't want you to erase anything nor do I want you to care.”
“I’m not—”
“No,” she snapped. “Just stop.”
I didn’t speak. I let her breathe, because she looked like she hadn’t in a long time.
“You can’t just… hug me and expect that years of pain will disappear.”
“I don’t,” I said, quietly.
“Good,” she muttered, stepping away. “Because it doesn’t.”
I stood there soaked, watching her pace. Her arms wrapped around herself like she was holding the pieces together.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me overnight.”
She shot me a look. “Then what are you asking, Rowan?”
I hesitated.
“I’m asking for a chance to earn it.”
She scoffed. “You can’t earn it.”
“I know.”
She stopped walking. “Then why keep trying?”
“Because I can’t stop thinking about everything I don’t remember,” I said, stepping closer. “About everything I might’ve done. And every time I see you—every time—I wonder how the hell I could’ve been that man to you. A sweet soul. So I am curious to remember why I did that. And even if I don't remember at all, the best I can do is repair what I broke.”
Her expression faltered, just for a second.
I took another step. “I want to be someone else now. Someone better. And not just for you.”
She blinked. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s easy to say that now,” she said bitterly. “After all the damage is done. After I already left. After I already gave birth. After I already buried the past. Alone. Why would you think I care about you to come back in?”
That one hit harder than anything else she’d said.
She was still trembling.
“Remi…” I tried to close the distance again, but she held up a hand.
“No. I can’t do this if you keep… if you keep looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m still yours.”
I swallowed. “I will never stopped seeing you that way. I…i care for you deeply.”
She rolled her eyes and walked into the cabin sighing to herself.
We were both quiet.
The rain outside was steady now. The thunder had passed, but the tension inside this room was louder than any storm.
“You told me I was a mistake,” she said. “Repeatedly. That I was nothing. That you didn’t want me.”
My throat was dry. “I don’t remember saying those things, but… I believe you. And I hate that I was capable of that.”
“I hate that I loved someone who could be that cruel.”
That one cracked something open inside me.
“Remi, I can’t undo what I’ve done,” I said. “I don’t want to erase your pain. I just… I want to be someone you can stand to be around. Someone our kids—”
She flinched.
I stopped.
“I wasn’t supposed to know,” I said. “But I do.”
Her eyes filled again. “And what? You think now you get to be their father?”
“No,” I said honestly. “I think I need to earn that too.”
She turned her body slightly, ready to leave again, but I didn’t move.
I stepped toward the hearth and struck the match.
The fire flared, catching fast. Within minutes, warmth filled the space—orange light flickering across her skin, making her look even farther away than she already was.
I grabbed the blanket from the chair. Walked over.
“Here.” I held it out.
She hesitated.
Took it.
But didn’t look at me.
“You can sit down, you know.” I gestured to the armchair near the fire. “You’ve been on your feet since the hike. Where are you even trying to go right now? It’s still pouring out there.”
She sighed.
“I’m not trapping you,” I added quickly. “You can leave if you want. I’m just asking… don’t.”
She slowly lowered herself onto the chair. Pulled the blanket around her.
And waited.
I sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing her. Not too close, but close enough.
“I… I want to know,” I said. “Please don’t sh
ut me out. I want to understand what I did. What you lived through. What I missed. I don’t want to keep pretending I’m someone else when I’ve clearly got so much to answer for.”
She didn’t speak.
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