9. April
Chapter 9
April
I cross the threshold to find Lucas slumped on the couch, gripping his hair tightly. The soft click of the door sounds through the quiet room, startling him. His head snaps up, his eyes meeting mine. I drop my bag and kick off my shoes.
“Hey,” he grits out.
“Hey,” I whisper.
Frozen by the doorway, I watch him carefully.
“I just boiled the kettle. Would you like a tea?” he offers.
“No, thanks.”
He nods sharply. Silence stretches between us until he rubs the back of his neck, exhaling in defeat.
“Are you just going to stand there?” he asks impatiently, snapping me out of my trance.
His words prompt me to move, so I walk over to the sofa and sink into the seat furthest away from him. His short hair is dishevelled, he fidgets with the material of his tracksuit pants, and his eyes are bloodshot. Faint stubble peppers his face, looking so unlike the clean, put-together Lucas I’m used to.
My eyes fall to my hands resting in my lap, and I pick at my nails uncomfortably.
“Please say something, baby.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
He nods in response, releasing a long breath before speaking. “I don’t fully understand what happened. But I feel I should at least clarify a few things.”
I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.
He shifts in his seat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on the floor as he continues. “I know I’ve been distant lately, and I’m sorry for that. It’s not about you—it’s me. I’ve been dealing with some personal stuff, and I haven’t handled it well. I felt like my depression was returning, and I shut down, and I know it’s hurt you.”
I stay silent, unsure of what to say.
He continues, his voice strained with emotion. “I thought I could work through it on my own, but I was wrong. I should have leaned on you more, should have let you in. But I couldn’t. And I see now how much that hurt you.”
I temper the anger that’s now bubbling, trying to keep my composure.
“This isn’t about being distant, Lucas. Your personal issues, which I’m surprised I’m only hearing about now, have nothing to do with that Instagram account and those women. That’s a separate issue. You told me there were problems at work, you lied to me. What you’ve done is cheating .”
“It’s not what you think.”
“It’s exactly what I think. I saw it, Lucas. I read the messages, I heard the voice notes. I …” I trail off, a lump forming in my throat. “I saw the photos.” My voice cracks as I continue, “Were they your way of sorting through your personal issues?”
His eyes glaze over as he desperately searches my face, but I continue. “I trusted you. I’ve never lied. I’ve shared everything with you.” Tears stream down my cheeks, and my chest heaves as I begin to cry.
“Baby—” He leans over and reaches for my hand, I pull away, shaking my head, unable to withstand his touch.
“Don’t. Please don’t touch me,” I say.
“I messaged those women when I was at a low point,” he urges, and his voice wobbles. “I’m so sorry,” as he closes his eyes.
This time when he reaches for me, I give in. I have no strength left to fight it. He gently cradles my head in his hands and presses his forehead to mine. Our breaths mingle, our tears mirroring each other.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, as if it’s a mantra. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, “I know you are.”
“I’ve been selfish,” he admits, barely above a whisper. “I’ve taken you for granted, and I hate myself for it. You deserve better than this. Better than me.”
A sob escapes and I turn away as he continues. “I want you to know that there’s nobody on that account who I care about, even as a good friend.”
“Months, Lucas. This has been going on for months . You told this Katelyn that you loved her —love. And not just once, you said it a lot . You called her baby .” I place my hand over my heart, hoping it could somehow keep the shattered pieces together. “That’s what you call me.”
I wait for his response, but nothing comes. We remain in deafening silence.
I finally look at him, seeing the pain and guilt reflected in his gaze.
“April,” he whispers as his eyes glisten with unshed tears, “I don’t know where we go from here.”
I feel a deep, overwhelming ache in my chest, a sense of heartbreak that threatens to consume me. Every fibre of my being longs to lash out at him, to seek answers, and demand he tell me what went wrong, where we went wrong. I want to scream, to plead with him to explain why he turned to those women, strangers on the internet, for solace instead of confiding in me, or seeking professional help. What did they offer him that I couldn’t? What void did they fill that I failed to? But I know, deep down, that even if I did scream, even if he did offer explanations, it wouldn’t bring me the peace I crave. It wouldn’t undo the hurt, or the lies.
His actions have irreversibly altered our relationship, shattering the trust I once held so dear. No words could erase this pain. I fear his betrayal is stitched into my soul. And so, I hold back my screams, I stifle my pleas, and I resign myself to the truth: Some fractures are too deep to mend.
Rather than reducing myself to begging, I give up.
Instead, I ask the question that has haunted me for the past twenty-four hours. The question that has been stuck in my throat, squeezing my chest. The question I never thought I would have to ask my fiancé. “Do you still love me?”
His anguished gaze searches mine, darting back and forth, before he slowly closes his eyes in defeat.
“I do love you, April. But I can’t return the depth of affection you have for me. I don’t deserve you. You deserve someone far better than me, someone who can be everything you want and need.”
I close my eyes and bring a shaky hand to my mouth to stifle my sob.
“You are one of my dearest friends, and I am so honoured to know you,” he whispers.
And that’s it. My heart cracks open and bleeds.
“We can’t fix this,” I say softly.
He doesn’t say anything back to me—he doesn’t have to.
At that moment, I realise that this is the end. The end of us.
And finally, once he’s packed his bag and the front door clicks shut, I climb into bed, fully clothed, and pull the duvet over myself.
The silence settles, and I let go, allowing myself to fall apart.