31. Fucked Up
Alexander
I screwed up again.
Yesterday passed in a thick fog. Meeting after meeting. Call after call.
I found two minutes—literally two minutes—to send her a message.
Alexander: I hope everything’s going well. I’m thinking of you.
Pathetic.
I should have called her. Taken fifteen minutes. Asked how she was doing, how her work was coming along. But lunch with a potential partner dragged on, and I rolled straight into the afternoon meetings.
Anyway, Sam wasn’t very available. Her reply was cold. Impersonal.
Sam: Everything’s fine. See you tonight.
I should have called her. But the stress is mounting as we approach the IPO. The numbers aren’t good, and I’m trying everything I can to correct course. To save the work of my life.
I’m mentally exhausted, and I’m also so angry at Kristel. Not only did she cheat on me, but I’m certain she’s behind the rumors relentlessly targeting us.
And in the middle of all that, there’s Sam.
I feel so guilty. Guilty for letting her down and for being unable to support her, to be there the way she needs. I’m barely holding myself upright.
For “bad timing,” this is a fucking bad timing.
I stare at my computer screen, but the numbers blur in front of my eyes. All I see is Sam’s face last night, when I told her I had to work.
I had promised her. Promised to make her my priority.
And what did I do? I told her fifteen minutes… and then I locked myself in my office for two hours because I’d spotted an error in the presentation for the shareholders. An error that sent me into absolute panic.
I started everything over, checked every slide, every figure, every projection. My heart was racing, my shirt plastered to my back.
In the end, the error was minor. A simple column swap in a table. Nothing that jeopardized the IPO. But I couldn’t have known that in the moment.
I should have eased up, taken a break, but sometimes pressure and fatigue keep us from being clear-headed and stepping back.
And when I finally finished, when I slipped into bed, she was already asleep.
I wanted so badly to hold her. To wake her gently, to apologize, to explain.
But I didn’t.
I wasn’t sure she would have appreciated it. Not after I’d once again put work before her.
I don’t know how to earn her forgiveness. Or how to help her with her degree.
I see how much the destruction of her artwork is destroying her. In her eyes when they cloud over when she thinks I’m not looking. In the way her shoulders sag. In that smile she pastes on her face that fools no one.
I’m a man of action. When a problem comes up at the company, I find a solution. I decide. I act.
But with Sam, I feel helpless.
I can’t repair her canvases, or erase the trauma of the assault.
I can’t turn back time and pick up that fucking phone when she called me, terrified.
All I can do is be there. And even that, I manage to screw up.
*
When I get home that evening, she’s in the kitchen with Emelyne and Mara. They’re laughing about something—and the sound cuts off abruptly when I step through the door.
“Good evening,” I say.
“Good evening,” Sam replies.
Emelyne and Mara greet me with a nod. I catch something in their eyes. Disapproval? Pity?
I move closer to Sam, place a quick kiss on her lips. She lets me, then turns her head away.
“Good day?” I ask, forcing lightness.
“Yes, I’m making good progress. We went out for lunch at noon. It was nice.”
Mara tells us about how her shopping is coming along. A new couch. New furniture.
“Everything should be ready by Friday. That’ll give us time to settle back in before the term starts.”
Already. There are only three days left before she leaves. And what am I doing? I’m wasting time with her. Like an idiot.
Sometimes I catch Sam looking at me. But the second our eyes meet, she looks away. If that’s not a sign I messed up, I don’t know what is.
Emelyne and Mara don’t stay too late. After they leave, Sam heads straight for the bedroom, visibly exhausted.
“I’m going to bed,” Sam says, without waiting for my response.
“I’ll be there.”
She nods and disappears into the bedroom.
I stand there for five minutes, not knowing what to do to bridge the gap between us. I still haven’t found an answer when I force myself to join her.
When I slide into bed, she’s turned on her side, her back to me. I don’t know whether she’s asleep or pretending.
And in the darkness, separated by those few centimeters that feel like miles, I wonder how to close this distance.
How to find my way back to her.
How to show her that she really matters.
Even if our story is starting at the worst possible moment.
*
The next day, an idea comes to me during a meeting.
The canvases.
She lost her canvases. I can buy her new ones.
It’s concrete. Tangible. Something I can do.
At lunch break, I skip the meal and head to an art supply store.
I buy ten of them, in different sizes.
When I get home that evening, Emelyne has already left.
“You’re home early,” Sam observes hesitantly, even though it’s already past six.
“Yes. I made a few purchases. I’ll be right back.”
She frowns, intrigued. God, she’s beautiful. I want to take her in my arms, to kiss her, to close the gap between us. But I stop just before touching her. I haven’t earned that right back yet.
I go back to the car and carry the canvases in five at a time. When I’m done, they’re stacked against the living room wall.
Sam brushes a canvas with her fingertips. The silence is so thick I can hear the paper rustle beneath her hand. Her expression is unreadable.
That silence burns.
“You bought… canvases for me.”
“Yes. I thought that… you’d need them. For your project.”
And suddenly, I feel stupid.
I should have taken her with me. Let her choose.
But I didn’t think. I wanted to do something for her. So I acted.
“I know they’ll never replace what you lost,” I say. “But they’ll help you make new ones. If they don’t work, we can exchange them… or choose others together. I—”
“Alexander.”
Her voice is soft. Calm.
“I just wanted to do something,” I whisper. “I’m not trying to buy your forgiveness.”
My voice breaks.
The silence stretches. Then she looks at me.
“I don’t want you to fix my problems. I want you to be there when I face them.”
My heart tightens.
“The canvases are a beautiful gesture. And I need them. But what I need most is you. Not your money. Not your gifts. You.”
I reach for her face, slowly, giving her time to pull away, but she doesn’t. Instead, her cheek presses into my palm.
I take it as permission and close the space between us. My arms tighten around her, and her head nestles against my neck.
God, how I’d missed her.
“I’m going to do better,” I murmur against her lips.
“You’re trying,” she replies. “I see it, and for now, that’s enough for me.”
When she kisses me, it’s a real kiss. Slow. Deep. The kind of kiss that momentarily erases everything else.
A kiss that tells me we still have a chance. A chance to start again. Even if nothing is guaranteed.