The Distance Between Us
Night had fallen heavy over the house. The lights glowed soft and golden across the bedroom walls, shadows stretching in quiet corners. Clara lay awake, staring at the ceiling, though her body ached with exhaustion.
Her fever had ebbed, but her chest was raw with something worse—something the fever could not explain. The silence, the loneliness, the memory of that phone call echoing in her head like a cruel reminder. Viviene. Viviene. Viviene.
Her throat tightened. She pressed her fists against her eyes, but the tears came anyway, hot and relentless.
She couldn’t do this anymore. . Not the fa?ade. Not the weight of a marriage that looked perfect to the world but hollowed her out inside.
When Ethan entered quietly with her medicine, she sat up sharply, trembling.
“Clara,” he said flatly, placing the glass of water and pills on the nightstand. “You need to—”
“I can’t do this,” she cut in, her voice breaking.
Ethan stilled, his tall frame rigid in the dim light. “What?”
Clara’s hands shook as she pulled the blanket tighter around herself. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, tears streaking down her cheeks as she looked at him with raw, unbearable pain.
“I can’t pretend anymore,” she whispered, then louder, angrier at herself than at him, “I can’t pretend to be your wife in public when I know I’m nothing to you. It’s breaking me, Ethan.”
He stood by the bed, unreadable, his expression carved in stone.
Clara let out a shaky sob. “You never look at me the way you look at her. I’ll never be Viviene. I can’t be that—beautiful, glamorous, effortless. She’s everything you want, and I…” She broke off, shaking her head violently. “I’m just the one you were forced to marry.”
Ethan’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Her tears came harder, words spilling out like a dam breaking.
“You should have chosen her, married her. Everyone knows you would have been happier. I’ll tell our parents it was my fault.
I’ll take the blame. I’ll walk away so no one points fingers at you.
” Her voice cracked into pieces. “Just… don’t make me keep living like this. Please.”
Her shoulders shook with sobs, her face buried in her hands.
For a long moment, Ethan didn’t move. He only stood there, silent, his dark gaze fixed on the fragile figure before him. The weight of his stillness pressed against her until she thought she would shatter.
And then—without a word—he stepped forward.
Clara flinched when his arms suddenly wrapped around her, pulling her against his chest. Her cheek pressed into the hard lines of his shirt, the steady beat of his heart thudding beneath.
She gasped through her tears, muffled against him. “Ethan…”
“Enough,” he said quietly, his tone low but firm. His chin brushed the top of her head, his arms holding her tightly as if she might slip away. “We’ll talk about this later. When you’re better.”
Clara’s sobs trembled against him, her words nearly incoherent. “I… I can’t… it hurts…”
He rubbed a steady hand along her back, not soothing in the way she craved but steady, grounding. “You need rest. Take your medicine.”
Her lashes were wet when he gently pried her hands from his shirt to place the pills between her fingers. She swallowed them obediently, too broken to resist.
When she swayed, exhausted, he guided her carefully toward the dresser. His touch was brisk, efficient, but careful as he helped her change into soft cotton pajamas. Clara flushed with humiliation and grief, but Ethan’s gaze remained steady, never straying, never faltering.
Once she was back in bed, he didn’t leave. Instead, he slid in beside her, tugging the blanket around them both before pulling her into his chest once more.
Clara stiffened at first, confused, vulnerable, afraid this was only pity. But the steady rise and fall of his chest, the strength of his arm around her shoulders, broke down her resistance.
Her face pressed into him, she whispered brokenly, “Why are you doing this?”
He didn’t answer. His only response was to tighten his hold, tucking her trembling frame closer as though daring the world to touch her while she was like this.
Clara’s sobs slowly quieted, though her body still shook with each breath. She felt small, weak, but also—terrifyingly—safe. She hated herself for it. Hated that she could find comfort in the very man who tore her apart.
Her eyelids grew heavy, exhaustion pulling at her. Still, the ache in her chest didn’t ease. “For tonight,” she whispered, words slurred with sleep, “just let me stay like this. For the last time.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened. His eyes burned with something he refused to name. He rested his chin lightly against her hair. “Sleep, Clara,” he said, his voice low and uncharacteristically rough.
Her trembling slowed, her tears dampening his shirt as her breaths evened out.
And for the first time in a long time, Clara slept in Ethan’s arms—fragile, broken, but cradled in a warmth she knew would vanish by morning.