Falling For Him
The silence was unbearable.
He was at the fireplace, poking at the logs like they’d personally offended him.
I sat still, wrapped in the blanket he handed me. The heat from the embers flickered across the room, but it wasn’t enough. Not for what I was feeling. Shame. Guilt. Confusion. Longing. Regret. All rolled together in a knot lodged firmly in my throat.
His back was still to me when he finally spoke.
“You didn’t have to apologize.”
I looked down. “I did.”
He glanced over his shoulder, then turned fully, leaning against the mantle. “No. You didn’t. You didn’t lead me on. I kissed you first.”
I met his eyes, and it hurt how tender they looked. How open.
“And I kissed you back,” I said quietly. “And I liked it. That’s the problem. I don't want to lead you on.”
He exhaled, stepping closer again. Not too close—like he was learning the distance I needed.
“I wasn’t expecting tonight to go like this,” he admitted.
“Me neither.”
He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers like he didn’t know what to do with them. “It’s not about sex for me, Remi. I didn’t bring you here to… win you with some grand gesture. I didn’t even know what to expect. But this—” his voice dropped, “—this matters. You matter to me.”
I stared at him, searching for the lie. I couldn’t find one. Which made it worse.
“You don’t get to say that like it’s easy,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “You forget everything, Rowan. I didn’t. You didn’t have to crawl out of a marriage with your pride in shreds. I did. I raised them alone. I carried the silence. The gossip. The looks. I worked my ass off in school, at work, in hospitals, in goddamn grocery stores because I had no time to breathe.”
“I know,” he said, stepping even closer now. “That’s why I’m not asking you for forgiveness. I’m asking you for acceptance of this new me. I would do anything Remi. What you need. What you want. I’ll take it all.”
I blinked hard. “You’re not the same man I married.”
He smiled faintly. “Thank God for that.”
I let out a sharp breath that might’ve been a laugh. Or a sob. Maybe both.
“You still don’t remember, any single thing at all?” I asked.
“Bits. Pieces. Emotions mostly. It’s like I know I hurt you, but I don’t remember how. I see your eyes and I feel guilt in my chest. But the scenes? The details? They’re like fog.”
“And the twins?” I asked, my voice tight.
He hesitated. “When I found out… it destroyed me.”
“Now imagine carrying that truth for years.”
Silence again.
Then softly—so softly—I heard him whisper, “I want to make it right.”
“You can’t,” I whispered back. “There is no making it right. There’s only what you do now.”
He knelt in front of me again, same as earlier.
And this time, he didn’t touch me.
He just looked up and said, “Then tell me what to do now.”
I stared at him. For too long.
And then I said the truth.
“Be better. Keep showing up. Not just for me. For them. For yourself.”
His expression shifted. Less broken. More determined. “I will.”
“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”
“I do,” he said simply. “I’ve never meant anything more.”
I stood slowly. So did he.
“I need air,” I murmured, brushing past him, still wrapped in the blanket.
He didn’t stop me.
I stepped out onto the porch. The rain had slowed, just mist now, whispering across the wooden rail. I leaned against it and closed my eyes, the cold air sharp on my cheeks.
My body still buzzed from that kiss. My mind, though? Chaos.
The door creaked open behind me.
He joined me in silence.
After a while, I said, “I wish I could forget too you know. I know I have said it but I really wish I could. Then it would be easier to start afresh as strangers.”
I didn’t turn to look at him. I didn’t have to.
His breath hitched. Just slightly.
“I wish I could forget the night I realized I didn’t matter to you. I wish I could forget the months I spent hoping you’d touch me like I wasn’t just an obligation.”
He didn’t reply.
I went on anyway.
“But I remember it all. And that’s what makes this harder. I remember the pain. I remember the silence. I remember the woman I was before I loved you.”
I turned then.
He was staring at me like he’d just lost his grip on gravity.
“And now?” he asked quietly.
“Now I don’t know if I can let you back in without breaking again.”
He nodded once. “Then I’ll wait. I’ll be outside the door until you decide it’s safe to open.”
I exhaled, long and shaky.
He stepped forward, then stopped short, catching himself.
“I won’t kiss you again unless you ask me to.”
I smiled. Sad. Exhausted. But grateful.
“Thank you,” I said, voice barely audible.
*****
The room was quiet—too quiet.
I sat at the edge of the bed, still wrapped in the blanket he gave me. The firelight from the other room had dimmed now, its crackles reduced to soft embers behind the closed door. We hadn’t said anything after I pulled away.
Separate rooms.
His choice, not mine.
No, that wasn’t fair.
It was mine too.
I asked for space. I said I needed time. I practically shoved him away with my silence.
And now I was here.
Alone.
I leaned back, falling onto the pillows with a soft sigh and stared at the ceiling. My lips still tingled from the kiss. My body still hummed from where his hands had touched me. I hated how much of me still responded to him—despite everything.
“I’m such an idiot,” I whispered.
But it wasn’t about the kiss.
It wasn’t even about the sex we almost had.
It was him. All of him. The new him. The version that looked at me like I mattered. The one that apologized. The one that held my face like I was precious instead of a nuisance.
But he wasn’t always this man.
I couldn’t forget that.
I closed my eyes and saw it—the way he used to ignore me. How cold he’d been when we were married. How easily he’d disappear for nights without explanation, and how empty the house always felt.
Back then, I thought I’d married a stranger.
But now? It’s worse.
Because this stranger might be someone I’m falli
ng for all over again. I might come off as repetitive but this is a scary. A trauma for me to let go.
Yet I am falling for him again. With all that baggage.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
