Chapter 131 Chapter 131
I hung up and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. The tight knot in my chest refused to loosen. I had always been a man who calculated risks, who assessed variables and outcomes. But this… this was different. This was her, and nothing could be calculated to prevent her pain from reaching me.
Not yet, but I wouldn’t let it continue unseen, because she didn’t have to carry this burden alone, not anymore, and if she ever thought she did, I would dismantle that notion with every ounce of control I had, even if it meant unraveling a little of myself in the process, because some things were more important than strategy.
Some things were more important than pride, some things were more important than silence, and Tessa… she was one of them.
Tessa
The house felt heavy, like it was holding its breath along with us. I sat on the couch, knees pulled up, staring out the window at the gray light creeping over the lawn. Zaiel didn’t say anything at first. He just moved around the kitchen, made himself coffee, and let the silence settle between us like an old, awkward blanket.
Finally, he came and sat beside me. Close, but careful. Not too close. I wanted that, but I didn’t want to admit it.
“You didn’t sleep,” he said, almost like a statement, not a question.
“I tried,” I muttered, twisting my fingers in my lap. “It didn’t work.”
He nodded, quiet. For a moment, neither of us moved. Just the hum of the fridge and the faint sound of wind outside. Then he reached out slowly, resting his hand on mine. I didn’t pull away, not fully. I let him touch me, letting the warmth seep in like a small lifeline.
“I keep thinking… maybe I should’ve let you in,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “Instead of doing it alone.”
“You handled it your way,” he said softly. “And that’s okay. You survived it. I… survived watching you survive it.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Survived watching me survive it" sounds a bit dramatic when you say it like that.
“It’s dramatic,” he said, smiling faintly. “Because it matters. You matter. And I… I don’t want to ever feel helpless with you again," he said.
I tilted my head to look at him, noticing the tension in his shoulders and the tightness in his jaw. He wasn’t just worried about the pregnancy. He was worried about me—about us. That thought made my chest ache in a different way, the ache that comes from feeling seen and still unsure you deserve it.
“I wasn’t trying to shut you out,” I said finally. “I just… didn’t know how to let you in without breaking down completely.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles. “You don’t have to be perfect for me. You don’t have to be strong. You just… are. And I’ll stay here, no matter what," he said.
I leaned against him, just a little. Not completely, just enough to feel anchored; he didn’t move away and didn’t smother me. He just let me exist beside him in the quiet.
We didn’t speak for a while; words felt clumsy and unnecessary. Instead, we just sat there, letting the space between us soften, his arm stayed around my shoulders, and my hand was in his. I realized how much I’d missed this, just being close without forcing anything, without pretending everything was fine.
“I hate that I made you feel helpless,” I said, eventually. “I hate that I made it about me and not us.”
“You didn’t,” he said, quiet but certain. “It’s not about blame. It’s about… being here. Together. Even if it’s messy and uncomfortable. That’s what matters.”
I let out a shaky breath and rested my head against his chest. He smelled like coffee and something else familiar, like home, maybe. And for the first time in days, I felt a little lighter. Not healed, not even close, but lighter.
“Can we just… stay like this?” I asked softly.
“Yes,” he said, and his voice was low enough that I could feel it more than hear it. “As long as you want. No rush. No pressure. Just… us.”
And that was enough for now. The day was starting, the world outside moving forward, but here, in this quiet corner of the house, we existed for each other. Grief was still there. It wasn’t gone. But it didn’t feel like a wedge anymore. It felt like something we could sit with, side by side, and maybe, just maybe, start to carry it together.
I didn’t sleep that night; I stayed awake because the silence inside my body felt louder than anything else in the world. There’s a strange emptiness after pain leaves.
People think relief comes after suffering ends, but relief never came. What came instead was silence, a terrible, echoing silence that made me aware of every breath I took and every one I didn’t.
I lay on my side watching his back. He stayed in bed with me, close enough that his warmth reached me but not touching me. I knew that distance was intentional; it wasn't punishment, rejection, or restraint.
Zaiel loved with his presence, not pressure. Tonight he was giving me space because he thought I needed it, but what I actually needed was something I didn’t know how to ask for.
My hand rested against my stomach again before I realized I had done it. The habit remained even though there was nothing to protect. The body remembers faster than the mind accepts; I pressed harder, still nothing. No fragile awareness, no careful movements, just me.
My throat tightened, and I forced my hand away, folding it beneath the pillow like hiding evidence from myself. I felt him shift behind me, not touching, just awake.
“You’re breathing unevenly,” he said quietly. Of course he noticed.
“I’m fine,” I whispered.
A pause. “You say that every time you’re not," he said quietly.
I stared into the darkness. “If I say I’m not fine, then what happens?" I asked, and he didn’t answer immediately, and that told me everything. He was choosing honesty over comfort.
“Then I'll stay awake with you,” he said.
My chest hurt more than before. “I don’t want you to feel responsible for this.”
“I’m responsible for you,” he replied calmly.
“That’s exactly what scares me.”
I heard him inhale slowly. “You think loving you is a burden?" he asked.
“I think losing things tied to me hurts you.” There was another pause. Then softer, closer. “You are not an event I endure, Tessa. You are the reason I endure events," he said, and I squeezed my eyes shut because that was worse. Kindness was always worse than anger.
“I didn’t want to watch your face when you realized,” I admitted.
“I would have been looking at you, not the loss," he said.
The mattress dipped slightly as he shifted closer, but he still didn’t touch me.
“You carried it alone because you thought I’d break,” he continued. “But you breaking up without me is worse.”