loving you was a mistake

The quiet in the car was thick. Mark didn't say a word as he drove us home, his jaw clenched and eyes focused on the road ahead. I stared out the window, arms crossed, willing myself not to cry again. My outburst was messy, raw, and unfiltered and I couldn't take it back.

As the car pulled into the estate and eased through the gate, Richard, our ever-loyal butler, stepped forward with a warm smile. "Welcome home, Ma'am. Sir." I didn't respond. I just stormed past him and into the house, slamming the door behind me. I could hear Mark sighing deeply from behind as I took the elevator up to our floor. The moment I entered our room, I locked the door and collapsed on the bed.

Minutes passed. Maybe even an hour. A soft knock broke the silence. "Aurora… it's me," Mark's voice came through the door, quiet but steady. "Please open up." I didn't answer.

"I'm sorry," he continued. "I shouldn't have said those things, not like that. I was angry and tired, and I let it out the wrong way. But you're not a failure. You're not someone I want to run from. You're my home." His words sank into the walls of my heart, but I still didn't move. I needed more than just apologies I needed to feel like I wasn't alone in this.

A few minutes later, I heard rustling outside the door. Then music. Soft jazz, the kind we danced to on our honeymoon in Greece. Then came the scent of lavender and honey it was my favorite candle. Was he setting a scene?

I got up slowly and unlocked the door.

He stood there holding a small tray with two mugs of warm tea, the candle burning gently beside him on the hallway table. "Can I come in?" I moved aside wordlessly.

He entered and set the tray on the side table, then turned to me. "I know I've been distant, trying to be strong and pretending I'm okay when I'm not. But the truth is… I don't know how to fix this. I only know I can't lose you."

I looked away, biting my lip.

"I miss us," he whispered. "I miss how we used to hold each other, how we used to talk without walking on eggshells. I miss my best friend. My wife." Tears welled in my eyes. "I miss us too," I whispered. "I'm sorry, Mark. I've been… unfair. Angry. Bitter. And I took it out on you."

He stepped closer. "We're allowed to feel. Both of us. Just not against each other."

I nodded. "I thought pushing you away would hurt less than watching you slowly give up on me."

He pulled me into his arms, holding me close, his hand resting gently against the back of my head. "I could never give up on you. You're all I've ever wanted. Baby or no baby, you are my life." His words shattered the wall I had built. I melted into his embrace.

We stood there for minutes, just breathing, just feeling. He cupped my face and gently brushed his lips against mine. Soft at first like a question. I kissed him back, deeper, fuller, like an answer.

Clothes slowly became memories on the floor. His lips traced the tears on my cheeks before they made their way to my collarbone, each kiss like a vow he was silently renewing. His hands knew my body the dips, the curves, the lines etched by time and memory. My hands, too, rediscovered him, holding him as if afraid to let go.

There was no rush, no frantic pull just us, rediscovering what was buried under the pain. His mouth explored me gently, reverently. I gasped when his hands traveled lower, and he responded with a kiss that made my heart skip. Everything slowed into a rhythm uniquely ours patient, passionate, and filled with everything unspoken.

He moved with a tenderness that made my heart ache, whispering my name like a prayer with every breath, and I held on, not just to him but to the moment to the love we were mending. When we finally collapsed into each other's arms, breathless and warm beneath the sheets, I looked up into his eyes and smiled.

"I love you," I whispered.

"I love you more," he replied, brushing a curl from my face. And for the first time in weeks, I believed him. And more importantly I believed in us.