NEVER FORGIVE YOU
I walked back to her room and took the plate from her hands.
“Get out of my room,” I said coldly, not even looking at her.
Normally she would have fired back immediately with something sarcastic… something sharp enough to start another argument. But this time, she said nothing.
Not a word.
She slowly pushed herself up and walked out.
The silence she left behind felt heavier than any insult she could have thrown at me.
I didn’t close the door.
I just sat on my bed, staring at my phone, pretending to scroll… pretending I didn’t care.
But after a moment, something felt wrong.
Too quiet.
I glanced toward the doorway.
She hadn’t gone far.
She was sitting on the cold floor in the hallway, leaning against the wall. Her injured arm rested weakly on her lap. She looked small… smaller than I had ever seen her.
Her head was lowered.
At first I thought she was just sitting there stubbornly.
Then I saw it.
A tear slipped down her cheek… then another… and another.
She wasn’t making a sound.
No angry words.
No dramatic crying.
Just silent tears falling endlessly, as if she was too tired to even wipe them away.
Her fingers trembled slightly around her injured arm, like even the smallest movement hurt.
She didn’t look toward my room.
She didn’t try to come back inside.
She just sat there on the cold floor… like she didn’t belong anywhere else.
I pushed myself up from the bed and walked toward the door. My footsteps stopped right in front of her.
She didn’t even look up.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor, tears falling silently onto the cold tiles.
She was ignoring me.
That only made the anger inside my chest grow heavier.
“Why are you crying now?” I asked, my voice sharp.
Still nothing.
“I should be the one crying,” I continued, the bitterness finally spilling out. “You made my life hell. You dragged me into this mess and now you’re sitting here acting like the victim?”
Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of her sleeve.
But she still didn’t speak.
“You vile woman,” I said quietly.
For a moment, the only sound in the hallway was her uneven breathing.
“You didn’t kill my family… but you killed me.”
The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them.
“You married me and do you think someone will marry me after divorcing you?” I laughed bitterly. “No one. No sane girl will do that.”
She stayed silent.
“My family… my friends… everyone will humiliate me for the rest of my life for getting divorced.” My throat tightened. “But you…”
I shook my head.
“You will get married again. You will have a family. And no one will question you.”
My voice turned cold.
“Because you are rich.”
Her eyes flickered slightly.
“And rich people can do anything and later cover it with money.”
I slowly kneeled down beside her.
She stiffened.
My fingers reached forward and gripped her jaw, forcing her to look at me.
Her skin was cold.
Her eyes were still wet.
“I will never forgive you,” I said quietly, every word heavy, “for smiling while holding my family's lives in your hand.”
For a second… neither of us moved.
Then I let go of her as if her touch burned me.
I stood up abruptly and walked back to my room.
The door remained open behind me.
I sat on the edge of the bed, pressing my palms against my eyes.
Everything suddenly felt… wrong.
Not just the marriage.
Not just her.
Everything.
The house felt too quiet.
My chest felt too tight.
And for some reason… the image of her sitting on the cold floor, injured and silent, refused to leave my mind.
I stood up abruptly.
The silence in the room felt suffocating.
Without thinking twice, I walked to the door and slammed it shut.
The loud sound echoed through the house.
Let her sleep on the cold floor with that wounded arm.
I don’t care.
At least… that’s what I told myself.
I threw my phone on the bed and started pacing around the room. My mind refused to stay quiet. Every few seconds, the same image appeared again and again.
Her sitting there. Back against the wall.
Head lowered.
Tears silently falling.
I clenched my jaw.
Why was she crying?
Because I shouted at her?
Because I said those things?
A bitter laugh escaped my lips.
She threatened my family.
She forced me into this marriage.
She ruined my life.
So why the hell did I feel like I was the one who did something wrong?
I ran my hand through my hair in frustration.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered to myself.
I walked to the bed and laid down, staring at the ceiling.
A few seconds passed.
Then a minute.
Then another.
But sleep didn’t come.
Instead, my mind kept replaying small details I didn’t want to notice.
The way she winced every time she tried to move her arm.
The way she didn’t say a single sarcastic word today.
The way she quietly walked out when I told her to leave.
And the way she sat on the floor… without even arguing.
I turned to the other side of the bed angrily.
“She deserves it,” I whispered to myself.
“She deserves worse.”
But my chest felt heavy.
Uncomfortably heavy.
Outside the room, the house remained completely silent.
Too silent.
For a moment I wondered if she had moved.
If she was still sitting there.
If she was still crying.
My jaw tightened.
“No,” I said under my breath.
I pulled the blanket over myself and shut my eyes tightly.
I’m not going to check.
I don’t care.
Not even a little.
I didn’t know when I fell asleep.
When I opened my eyes again, the room was dark and silent. For a moment I just stared at the ceiling, trying to understand why I woke up.
My throat felt dry.
I reached for my phone and checked the time.
I groaned softly and pushed myself off the bed. My head felt heavy as I walked toward the door.
The moment I opened it, my steps halted.
She was still there.
Sitting on the floor.
Back against the wall.
Her injured hand resting awkwardly on her lap.
Her eyes were half open, as if she had been forcing herself not to fall asleep.
Hearing the sound of the door, she straightened a little.
So she hadn’t slept.
I looked away as if I hadn’t noticed anything.
Without saying a word, I walked past her and went to the kitchen.
The house was eerily silent at this hour.
I filled a glass with water and drank it slowly. The cold water slid down my throat, but it didn’t wash away the strange heaviness in my chest.
Why was she still sitting there?
Why didn’t she just lie down and sleep?
I clenched my jaw.
Stop thinking about it.
She is not my responsibility.
I placed the empty glass on the counter and walked back.
As I approached the hallway again, my eyes unwillingly drifted toward her.
She was still sitting there.
Silent.
Watching the floor.
Her eyelids drooped for a second before she forced them open again.
Like she was afraid to fall asleep.
For a brief moment… something inside me twisted.
But I ignored it.
I walked past her.
Entered my room.
And shut the door.
This time… a little more quietly.
My humanity got the better of me.
I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, but sleep refused to come back. Every time I closed my eyes, the image of her sitting outside the door kept flashing in my mind.
Her injured arm.
Her tired eyes.
Her body leaning helplessly against the wall.
I cursed under my breath and threw the blanket aside.
“Damn it…”
I stood up and walked to the door again. My hand rested on the door knob for a moment before I pulled it open.
She was still there.
Exactly the same position.
For a second I just stood there, staring blankly at her.
My chest tightened for reasons I didn’t want to understand.
“Come and sleep on the bed,” I said flatly.
She looked up immediately.
Her eyes locked on mine.
There was something in them—surprise… confusion… maybe disbelief.
I couldn’t hold that gaze.
I averted my eyes instantly and leaned against the doorframe like this whole thing didn’t matter.
“Don’t misunderstand,” I muttered harshly. “I just don’t want a dead body outside my room in the morning.”
She remained silent.
I could feel her still looking at me.
A few seconds passed.
Then slowly… painfully… she tried to stand up.
The moment she pushed herself up using the wall, her body trembled slightly.
Her injured shoulder shifted.
She winced.
A sharp breath escaped her lips.
I clenched my jaw.
Not my problem.
Her back pressed against the wall as she tried to push herself up, but the moment she moved her injured arm, her face twisted slightly in pain. Her fingers trembled as she tried again, stubbornly refusing to ask for help.
I sighed.
The sound escaped me before I could stop it.
For a moment I just stood there watching her struggle, irritation and something heavier mixing inside my chest.
Finally I walked toward her.
I stretched my hand out in front of her.
“Take my hand,” I said.
My voice came out rougher than I intended.
She stared at my hand for a second.
Then her eyes slowly moved up to my face, like she was trying to understand something.
Or maybe trying to understand me.
The silence stretched between us.
For a moment I thought she would refuse.
But then slowly… she lifted her hand.
Her fingers hesitated in the air before finally resting on my palm.
Her hand was cold.
Too cold.
I tightened my grip slightly and pulled her up gently.
She finally stood up.
The moment she found her balance, I yanked my hand away from hers as if I had held it longer than necessary.
Without saying anything, she slowly walked toward the room.
I followed her a few steps behind.
Her footsteps were slow and uneven, careful not to move her injured shoulder too much.
She reached the bed and was about to sit.
“Wait,” I muttered.
She paused.
I walked ahead of her and straightened the crumpled bedsheet. The blanket was twisted from when I got up earlier. I pulled it tight, smoothing it out like it suddenly mattered.
Then I picked up my pillow and blanket from the bed.
Without looking at her, I dropped them on the floor beside the bed.
I walked to the wardrobe, opened it, and took out an extra blanket.
I tossed it onto the bed.
“You can use that,” I said shortly.
She didn’t respond.
She just sat down slowly on the bed.
I unfolded my blanket on the floor and lay down on it, placing my pillow under my head.
The cold from the tiles seeped through the thin blanket instantly.
But I ignored it.
For a while, the room stayed silent.
Then her voice came quietly from the bed.
“…You don’t have to do this.”
I stared at the ceiling.
“If someone sees the great Viyana sleeping on the floor, while her husband comfortably takes the bed, your brother will probably break my bones one by one.”
Silence filled the room again.
After a moment, the mattress shifted slightly as she lay down.
The lights were off, but I could still hear the faint rustle of the blanket as she adjusted herself carefully, trying not to hurt her shoulder.
My jaw tightened.
I could be sleeping comfortably on that bed.
Instead I was lying on the floor like some idiot.
What am I even doing?