Chapter 46-You Didnt Come
For one blissful, confusing moment after waking, I thought I was still dreaming.
The warmth beside me felt familiar. Safe.
The steady rise and fall beneath my hand felt comforting enough that I didn't question it immediately.
My body, still sluggish from exhaustion and illness, instinctively leaned into it before my mind caught up.
It wasn't until I pushed myself upright and realized I wasn't using the mattress for support that something felt wrong.
Or perhaps right.
I wasn't sure anymore.
My palm rested against something solid. Something warm. Something breathing. Slowly, I turned my head. The sight that greeted me stole every coherent thought from my mind.
Achille.
My husband. Lying beside me.
Sleeping.
One arm draped over my waist as though he belonged there. As though he had spent every night beside me. As though he hadn't disappeared. As though he hadn't left me to wake up alone over and over again until loneliness had become as familiar as breathing. For several seconds, I stared.
I had spent so many nights imagining this exact moment that seeing it felt unreal.
There had been evenings when I had fallen asleep trying to remember the weight of his arms around me.
Nights where I had buried my face in his pillow searching for traces of his scent because it was the closest thing I had left.
Mornings when I had opened my eyes expecting him to be there, only to find empty sheets and cold silence.
Now he was here.
Actually here.
And somehow that hurt more. My fingers moved before my brain did. I reached out and poked his cheek.
Nothing.
I poked him again.
His nose wrinkled.
A third time.
A low groan escaped him before his arm tightened around my waist. "Go back to sleep," he mumbled, his voice rough with exhaustion.
"It's too early." Then he pulled me closer like nothing had happened like we were continuing a normal morning.
Like he hadn't broken my heart. For a second, my body betrayed me.
For one horrible second, I melted against him.
Because God help me, I had missed him. I had missed him so much that it physically hurt.
I missed his warmth.
His voice.
His scent.
His presence.
I missed falling asleep beside him. I missed waking up beside him.
I missed knowing that no matter how frightening the world became, he would be there.
That moment lasted exactly two seconds. Then reality crashed back into me.
The slap echoed through the room. The sound was so loud it startled even me.
Achilles shot upright immediately, one hand flying to his cheek while confusion flooded his face.
"Jesus, woman."
He stared at me.
"What is wrong with you?"
I laughed. The sound came out sharp and disbelieving. "What is wrong with me?"
My voice shook.
Not from weakness.
Not from illness.
Too many emotions are pushing their way to the surface at once.
Months ago, I would have backed down. Months ago, I would have swallowed the hurt. Months ago, I would have convinced myself his feelings mattered more than mine. Not today.
"No," I said, pointing directly at him. "What in the seven hell is wrong with you?"
The confusion disappeared instantly. His shoulders lowered. His eyes dropped. The shame on his face only made me angrier. Because it meant he knew. He knew exactly what he'd done.
"You do not get to crawl into my bed and pretend everything is fine."
His jaw tightened.
Still, he said nothing. The silence felt unbearable. I reached forward and grabbed his chin before he could lower his head again. The movement surprised both of us.
"Look at me...We have never had a marriage where we hide from each other." My voice trembled. "We don't run away because we're scared."
The tears were already building.
I hated that.
Hated that my body insisted on betraying me whenever I was angry.
"We don't disappear because we're ashamed."I squeezed his chin slightly harder. "We don't shut each other out."
His eyes closed briefly.
Pain flashed across his face.
"And we are sure as hell not starting now." The room felt too small. The air felt too heavy.
My chest hurt.
Everything hurt.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to cry.
I wanted to throw something at his head.
I wanted him to hold me.
The realization made me feel sick.
Because even now, even after everything, some pathetic part of me still wanted comfort from him. I hated that. I hated how much I loved him. I hated how desperately I wanted to crawl into his arms and forget all of this.
But I couldn't.
Because if I gave in now, then nothing would change. And if nothing changed, this would eventually happen again. "If you're hurting, you tell me." I pressed a hand against his chest. "If you're angry, you tell me."My voice cracked. "If you're scared, you tell me."
His expression twisted.
"If you're falling apart, you tell me."
The tears finally spilled over because that was the part that hurt most. Not that he had been afraid.
Not that he had been grieving. Not that he blamed himself.
I understood all of those things. I understood them so well it hurt.
The problem was that he had decided to suffer alone.
And in doing so, he had left me alone, too.
"You left me."
The words came out small.
Broken.
Far more fragile than I wanted.
His face crumpled immediately.
"You left me." I laughed bitterly through tears. "I woke up terrified, Achille." The memory still hurts. The confusion. The weakness. The fear. "I woke up thinking I might die." More tears followed. "I woke up wondering what happened." My chest tightened painfully. "And you weren't there."
The silence afterward was unbearable because I knew why.
Gods, I knew why. That was the worst part.
I understood. I knew he blamed himself. I knew every time he looked at me, he saw blood.
I knew he remembered carrying me through the palace while I was dying in his arms. I knew he was terrified.
But understanding didn't make the bed less empty.
It didn't make the nights less lonely. It didn't stop me from waiting.
"I kept listening for footsteps." My voice dropped to a whisper. The confession felt humiliating. "I kept telling myself you'd come tomorrow."
His breathing became uneven.
"I told myself you were busy." A laugh escaped me. Broken. Pathetic.
"I told myself you were working." I wiped angrily at my face. "Every single day, I made excuses for you."
His eyes filled with tears.
I looked away before I could lose my resolve.
Seeing him hurt made me want to comfort him.
Even now.
Even after everything.
And that wasn't fair.
"Do you know what the worst part was?" I swallowed hard. "I never doubted that you loved me."
The truth hung between us.
"I know you love me." My hand pressed against my chest. "I know that." Another tear slipped down my cheek. "I know you would burn the world down for me."
I looked directly into his eyes.
"I know you would die for me." My voice broke. "But I don't need you to die for me." The room blurred. "I need you to show up. I need you to stay ."
His entire face shattered.
When he reached toward me, I immediately moved backward.
The hurt that flashed across his face nearly broke my heart.
But I forced myself to keep moving. Because I needed him to understand.
I wasn't pushing him away because I didn't love him.
I was pushing him away because I did. Because I loved him enough to demand better.Because I loved our child enough to demand better.
Because if I didn't draw this boundary now, neither of us would survive the next storm.
"No."
My voice shook.
"I don't want your pity." The words hurt us both.
Because this conversation hurt.
All of it hurt.
"Why now?"
The question escaped before I could stop it.
"Why are you here now?"
He froze.
No answer came.
I laughed.
The sound was heartbreaking.
"Why didn't you come when I woke up?"
Silence.
"Why didn't you come when I sent for you?"
Still nothing.
"Why didn't you come when I tried to go see you?"
The tears returned.
Faster this time.
Hotter.
More painful.
Because I already knew the answer.
Fear.
Guilt.
Shame.
But knowing didn't make it acceptable.
"You know what hurts most?"
I shook my head.
"I always thought you'd come."
My voice broke completely.
"No matter what happened."
Another tear.
"No matter how angry we were."
Another.
"No matter how far apart we ended up."
The truth shattered inside me.
"I always thought you'd come."
The disappointment felt worse than the loneliness. Because it wasn't just him I had lost faith in. It was a promise. A certainty. A belief I had carried for so long that losing it felt like losing part of myself.
I slowly climbed out of bed.
The room tilted immediately. My body protested. My legs shook. The weakness returned all at once. Part of me wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed. To let him hold me. To bury my face in his chest and cry until there was nothing left. But I couldn't.
Not yet.
Not until he heard me. Not until he understood. I walked toward the bathroom door, putting as much space between us as my trembling body allowed.
"I've been alone before." My fingers tightened around the doorframe. "I know how to survive alone." The words tasted bitter because they were true, painfully true.
"I cried alone." My throat tightened. "I got sick alone." Another tear fell. "I picked myself up alone."
I looked at him.
"And then I met you." The heartbreak nearly swallowed me whole. "You promised I wouldn't have to do that anymore." His eyes closed. "I believed you."
The confession destroyed whatever strength I had left.
Because I had believed him.
Completely.
Without hesitation.
Without doubt.
And that faith was slipping through my fingers one painful piece at a time.
"I don't want to raise our daughter alone."
My voice cracked.
"I don't."
Another tear.
"But I won't let her grow up believing she's only loved when she's healthy and strong." The room fell silent. "I won't let her think she's abandoned whenever she's hurting."
I pressed a trembling hand against my stomach. "Because a child won't understand your trauma."
My gaze lifted.
"A child won't understand grief...A child won't understand why you disappeared." My voice softened. "All she'll understand is that her father left."
The truth hurt.
Gods.
It hurt.
Because I wasn't threatening him, I wasn't punishing him.
I was terrified. Terrified of repeating history.
Terrified of becoming my mother. Terrified of raising a child alone.
Terrified that the man I loved more than anything might not know how to stay when things got hard.
And worst of all, I was terrified that if I didn't say this now, we would eventually lose each other.
I stepped into the bathroom.
The door is beginning to close between us.