Chapter 2
I wanted to say something—anything—to make him see the damage he was causing, but the words refuse to come.
I just stood there, bathed in his anger, feeling each word hit me harder than the last.
He ran a hand through his hair, the lines of exhaustion and frustration etched deep into his face. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he might say something softer, something that would tell me it was just a rough patch. But his next words struck like a blow.
"How long do you expect me to wait for something that may never happen?"
It was sharp, the kind of question that didn't need an answer because it was already soaked in resignation.
I flinched, the words cutting me open. But I didn't back down. I couldn't.
"I know it's been hard. But please… please don't give up on us." My voice was barely above a whisper, but I hoped he'd hear the desperation in it.
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
God knows how much I wanted to give him what he wanted—a child, a family, something to bridge this distance growing between us. I'd prayed for it, cried for it. I would have done anything to make it happen. I've always dreamed of having a family of my own, and he knows that.
Above all else, He. Knows. That. He promised we'd build a permanent family, one that couldn't be taken away. The words he had whispered to me so many times before came back, echoing in my mind, like a cruel mockery.
My fingers clenched into fists, my nails biting into my palms. My heart ached with the weight of his silence, and I couldn't bear it.
"Adam, I'm trying," I whispered, my throat aching with the effort to keep my voice steady. "I'm trying so hard."
I reached out to him, my hand trembling, but he didn't even glance at me.
Instead, he laughed. Not the kind of laugh that carried joy or hope—this one was dry, hollow, and bitter.
"Trying isn't enough, Elise," he said, shaking his head. "Trying doesn't change anything."
The harshness of his tone startled me, like a slap across my face. It was cold, unfeeling, and it sent a chill through my spine. I looked down and twisted my hands together.
The words I wanted to say tangled on my tongue. I wanted to remind him of everything we'd shared—the dreams, the promises, the love—but he no longer looked like the man who would listen.
His eyes were hard, distant. I couldn't find the warmth in him that I once had.
My voice wavered as I forced the words out. "Adam, I don't know what else I can do." I kept my voice soft, afraid that if I spoke louder, he might erupt again.
I felt my throat tighten, my chest aching as I struggled to hold back the tears.
For a long, agonizing moment, we just stood there, staring at each other, both trapped in this silence that held every word we couldn't say.
Finally, Adam spoke again, but his voice was distant, like he was already somewhere far away.
"I'll head out."
His words were abrupt, dismissive, as though the conversation was over.
He turned away before I could respond, heading for the door. "Don't wait up for me."
And with that, he strode out of the room, leaving me standing there alone.
I watched as he drifted away from me, his silhouette fading into the shadows. A part of me wanted to follow him, to pull him back, to hold him and pretend that everything was okay, even just for tonight. But my feet stayed rooted, too afraid, too numb.
I sank into a chair in the dim light, clinging to the silence that filled the room, hoping it might reveal something that his words hadn't. But the quiet only deepened, pulling me into a place where my own doubts were louder than anything he'd ever said.