Don’t Leave
Valeria
Even as I still refuse to look at him, Dante keeps talking without loosening his grip around my wrist.
He doesn’t have the right to do that anymore.
It’s cruel, the power his touch still has over me.
“You don’t have to believe me,” he says softly. “But stay. Give me a chance to show you I can still be the man you can rely on.”
I want to believe him. It would be so easy. But we’re so broken that I’m no longer sure there’s still a future left for us.
“I didn’t mean a single word I said to you,” he pleads.
He pauses, as though carefully choosing the right words.
“That’s not an excuse. And it never will be.”
He minimizes nothing, doesn’t defend himself, doesn’t bargain.
Maybe that’s what finally forces me to turn toward him.
He takes both my hands and lifts them to his lips. A slow kiss, almost trembling, without breaking eye contact.
“Meeting you turned my whole life upside down. Marrying you...” His voice roughens slightly. “the greatest honor of my life. Do you believe me?”
I look at him.
The man I missed every single day for two years, even when I wasn’t sure I could trust him.
This man who hurt me with words I may never truly forget.
Love and anger still live in the same place inside me.
The wound still burns.
But his voice right now doesn’t sound like a man pretending. It sounds like a man terrified.
Terrified I’ll say no. Terrified of losing me a second time.
“I believe you... but that doesn’t erase everything that happened. You hurt me. Deeply.”
He swallows hard, absorbs my answer, but doesn’t look away.
I’m still angry with him. Maybe I will be for a long time. But being angry with him never meant I stopped loving him.
Something slowly loosens inside me.
Not healing. Far from it. But a first step.
Acceptance of what happened—and of the fact that neither of us can change it.
I sit back down, ready to listen.
Someone knocks at the door.
Dante goes to open it, then returns carrying a tray with coffee. He sets it down on the low table. Without a word, he pours me a cup and hands it to me in an almost hesitant gesture, as though he’s no longer sure he still has the right to take care of me.
“Drink.”
One single word.
And yet it contains everything he doesn’t know how to say.
I take the cup and cautiously sip from it. The warmth spreads slowly through me, loosening a knot I hadn’t even realized was there.
He picks up his own cup and sits across from me.
We drink in silence, like we used to.
Back then, this was always how we handled difficult conversations.
First, we found each other again.
Then we talked.
We let silence settle between us until breathing became easier again.
We gave our hearts time to beat at the same rhythm before trying to understand each other.
Except this time, nothing settles.
Our ritual no longer works.
The bond between us has been broken.
I no longer feel the peace I once felt in his presence.
No matter how much I want to, nothing feels the same anymore.
Is there even anything left to save between us?
I don’t know.
He takes my empty cup and sets it beside his before enclosing my fingers between his warm hands.
It’s strange, because his touch soothes me as much as it hurts me. But I don’t pull away, aware that we have to start somewhere.
“I ended things with Bianca because the moment you came back, I no longer felt free to love another woman. Maybe our marriage no longer exists on paper. But to me...” His voice lowers. “You never stopped being my wife.”
My heart cracks open.
His eyes shine.
Too much.
He looks away for a few seconds.
Then faces me again.
“Despite acting like a complete asshole... despite kissing her in front of you just to provoke you... despite all the venom I spat at you...” His voice falters. “I haven’t been able to touch her since you came back.”
A sob escapes me.
He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I know everything is complicated. You don’t erase two years of absence and pain with the snap of your fingers. But there’s only you.”
His voice breaks.
“There’s only ever been you.”
I cling to his hands with desperate strength.
And that’s when I fully realize how close I came to losing him forever.
How close we came to losing each other.
We remain holding onto one another like two shipwreck survivors clinging to the same lifeline.
Between us, the coffee table remains there.
Solid.
Real.
Like a barrier neither of us yet knows how to cross.