Jerrick let out a deep breath, his chest rising and falling heavily as if the weight of the world sat squarely on his shoulders. He had thought there was more time—more moments to cherish with Jessamyn, more stolen glances and whispered words in the night.
He believed, somehow, that the birth of their son would change everything, that the new life they had created together would be the bridge to mend the distance between them.
Yet, despite the hope he clung to so desperately, she had already made up her mind.
A sense of helplessness engulfed him. His hands, once capable of wielding swords and shields, now felt useless, unable to grasp the love that seemed to be slipping through his fingers. It was as though everything he had fought for—everything he thought was strong enough to weather any storm—was crumbling before his eyes. He feared that no matter how much he reached out, she might slap away his hand, walking towards a place where he could no longer follow.
