Chapter29
His eyes, once bright with warmth and affection, now seemed dull and hesitant, as if every word was a delicate step around the elephant in the room the shattering of our relationship, now reduced to a strained, platonic exchange.
“No, I’m fine,” I reply, my voice firm is laced with a hint of vulnerability, as I decline the offer. My nerves are already prancing a frantic jig in my stomach, like a swarm of restless butterflies, and I’d rather not add any fuel to the fire.
The last thing I need is to introduce another reason into this already unstable mix.
“Yes, of course,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, as he nodded gently, our eyes locking in a fleeting moment of tenderness. But the connection was short–lived, as his gaze began to waver, his eyes clouding over with a mix of sadness and yearning. He sighed, the soft sound carrying a weight of unspoken emotions, and looked at me longingly, his eyes pleading for something, forgiveness, understanding, or perhaps a second chance.
I didn’t know how to react to that, so I simply looked away, my heart racing with discomfort, as I struggled to maintain the blurring boundaries between us.
“Uhm, before anything else, I know you might think I’m trying to manipulate the situation, but I promise I’m not,” he says, his voice laced with sincerity, his eyes locked onto mine with a pleading intensity. And I wish I could say he was lying, that I could detect even a hint of deception, but he
-wasn’t.
Wilson was notoriously bad at lying, his transparent nature one of the many reasons he’d come clean about his betrayal in the first place, his guilt and shame too overwhelming to hide behind a mask of falsehoods. His honesty, though painful, was something I’d always admired about him,
even when it hurt the most.
“I know you, Wilson, you’re not good at lying,” I told him flatly, my voice devoid of emotion, as I acknowledged his sincerity. He swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and nodded his head gratefully, his eyes searching for something more absolution.
But I refused to offer him anything more than I already was, my heart still crumpled with the first of his betrayal. His regrets could be deeper, but so was the pain of my broken heart and shattered trust, the scars still tender to the touch. I couldn’t afford to soften, not yet, not when the memories of his deception still lingered.
“I am grateful,” he said, his voice tinged with a sincerity that caught me off guard, as he expressed his appreciation, sentiment he hadn’t conveyed in a long time. I sat there pondering about what he was trying to do, what he hoped to achieve from the ashes and ruins of our relationship.
Was he seeking redemption, or merely trying to ease his own conscience? The uncertainty gnawed at me, as I searched his eyes for answers, trying to decipher the motivations behind his words.
Chapter29
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I sighed, witnessing the internal turmoil etched on his face as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. I didn’t want him to think he couldn’t discuss our daughter with me, not after our last encounter. I wasn’t a monster, just a human who had been hurt terribly.
“Wilson, I’ve been here for ten minutes, but you’re awfully quiet,” I pointed out, my voice gently
urgent.
He snapped out of his thoughts, his eyes refocusing on me, as he bit his lips and began to tap his feet restlessly. His fingers drummed a sbeat on his thighs, betraying the anxiety radiating from him like a child’s lie, even from the distance between us. The tension was almost suffocating, as if the unspoken words were choking him, begging to be set free.
“Yes, yes,” he nodded with an almost frantic urgency, his head bobbing up and down at a ridiculously fast pace, as he straightened himself in his seat making me furrow my brows.
It was then that I noticed the subtle changes in his appearance, his hair, once shaggy and unkempt, was now cut short and neat, framing his face with a sense of purpose. His beard, once scraggly and neglected, was now trimmed and defined, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw. Even his clothes seemed more presentable, as if he’d made a conscious effort to shed the image of earlier.
His entire demeanor had shifted, exuding a sense of determination and resolve, a far cry from the aimless wanderer I’d encountered before. The transformation was surprising, and I found myself wondering what had sparked this change within him.
“So after I…” he began, his voice faltering once more, as he struggled to confront the memories he’d long avoided. I closed my eyes, counting numbers to calm the storm brewing inside me, as his. words threatened to unravel the fragile threads of my composure. He was freaking out, both himself and me, his desperation visible as he forced himself to continue.
“After that day, I tried to kiss you,” he stuttered, the words tumbling out like a reluctant confession, as if the shame and fear of losing me still lingered, a festering wound. I knew all too well what fear and desperation could drive people to do, and I couldn’t forget or forgive, not yet at
least.
But I also knew I couldn’t keep hitting him with it, not when our daughter’s well–being hung in the balance. He wasn’t just a husband I could easily divorce and walk away from; our entwined lives made it impossible to simply sing “yippee yi yay” and move on. My heart and trust were just the beginning, our daughter’s future, her happiness, and her sense of security were all at stake.
“I was consumed by regret and guilt for how I acted during that period,” he admitted with remorse.
