Chapter 19
59%
The silence in the room was deafening.
I sat on the edge of the bed–our bed–though now it felt more like a monument to something I had broken. Jasmine was gone, and every inch of the estate screamed with the ghost of her presence.
The way she used to hum when getting ready in the morning. Her scent, faint but still clinging to the pillows. Her laughter echoing in the halls when she teased me over something stupid. Now, nothing. Just the thick weight of my guilt and the unbearable quiet. I had pushed her away. And for what?
Because I couldn’t shake the fear that she would leave me like Mina did? Because I was too much of a coward to trust the one person who had stayed?
I reached for the whiskey bottle again. It was the third one in two days. I didn’t care. My throat burned, but not more than the hole in my chest. I hadn’t slept. I hadn’t eaten. Just a cycle of drinking, hating myself, and trying to find her in every corner of this godforsaken house.
I sent texts–hundreds maybe. Some angry. Some pleading. Some just empty words that meant nothing because the damage was done.
She didn’t reply.
Not once.
She left, and I knew why.
I suffocated her. My love turned into a cage. I thought protecting her meant owning her- but it didn’t. It never did.
She wasn’t Mina. She never was.
And that realization hit me like a truck somewhere between the silence and the fourth glass of scotch that afternoon. I dropped the phone. It slid off the table with a soft thud. I pressed my palms into my eyes and let out a scream that tore through my throat. What the hell was I doing?
Drinking wouldn’t bring her back.
Texting wouldn’t bring her back.
She needed space. She needed time. And maybe–just maybe–she needed to know I was willing to do better.
So I stopped.
Not overnight, but gradually.
I started with the liquor–poured the rest of the bottle down the sink and stood there watching it disappear like every moment I wasted pushing her away.
Then I cleaned the house. Every room. Every hallway. Not because I expected her to return right away, but because if–when–she came back, I wanted it to be for her. Not for the man
L
Chapter 19
- 20 TH, 18 Apr
who let his fear win.
I sent flowers every day.
The first time, they were returned.
The second, ignored.
The third, I left a note: “No pressure. Just love.”
4零59%日
I didn’t ask her to come back. I just wanted her to know she was still everything to me.
And then I showed up.
Not to beg. Not to make a scene. Just to see her.
She didn’t open the door.
But I saw the curtain move.
And that was enough.
I kept coming back, once a day. Sometimes I brought pastries from her favorite café. Sometimes just notes. “I miss you.” “I’m sorry.” “I love you.”
Weeks passed. And slowly, her silence shifted.
One night, I found the flowers were gone–not thrown out, just missing. Taken inside. The smallest shift, but I noticed.
The day after that, her assistant told me she read one of my letters. That she didn’t cry this time.
And then the next day–I saw her.
Just for a second. She stepped out to get her car and our eyes met. She didn’t look away. That night, I stood outside her door and whispered, “I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But I love you, Jasmine. And I will keep showing up until you believe it.”
I turned to leave.
But her voice–soft and trembling–called out, “Rozen…”
I froze.
I turned around.
Her eyes held the same pain mine did. But they weren’t angry. Not anymore.
“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” she said.
“I don’t expect you to–not right away.” I stepped closer. “But I will earn it. Every day. I’m done running from the past. I just… I need you. Not to fill the silence. Not to prove something. Just… you.”
She looked at me for a long time. And then opened the door wider.
I stepped inside.
It wasn’t a grand reconciliation. There were no fireworks. No dramatic kisses.
Just her standing there, vulnerable.
And me, finally willing to be the man she deserved.
My Hushand is a fake Ann
19:29 Fri, 18 Apr
Chapter 19
59%
The silence in the room was deafening.
I sat on the edge of the bed–our bed–though now it felt more like a monument to something I had broken. Jasmine was gone, and every inch of the estate screamed with the ghost of her presence.
The way she used to hum when getting ready in the morning. Her scent, faint but still clinging to the pillows. Her laughter echoing in the halls when she teased me over something stupid. Now, nothing. Just the thick weight of my guilt and the unbearable quiet. I had pushed her away. And for what?
Because I couldn’t shake the fear that she would leave me like Mina did? Because I was too much of a coward to trust the one person who had stayed?
I reached for the whiskey bottle again. It was the third one in two days. I didn’t care. My throat burned, but not more than the hole in my chest. I hadn’t slept. I hadn’t eaten. Just a cycle of drinking, hating myself, and trying to find her in every corner of this godforsaken house.
I sent texts–hundreds maybe. Some angry. Some pleading. Some just empty words that meant nothing because the damage was done.
She didn’t reply.
Not once.
She left, and I knew why.
I suffocated her. My love turned into a cage. I thought protecting her meant owning her- but it didn’t. It never did.
She wasn’t Mina. She never was.
And that realization hit me like a truck somewhere between the silence and the fourth glass of scotch that afternoon. I dropped the phone. It slid off the table with a soft thud. I pressed my palms into my eyes and let out a scream that tore through my throat. What the hell was I doing?
Drinking wouldn’t bring her back.
Texting wouldn’t bring her back.
She needed space. She needed time. And maybe–just maybe–she needed to know I was willing to do better.
So I stopped.
Not overnight, but gradually.
I started with the liquor–poured the rest of the bottle down the sink and stood there watching it disappear like every moment I wasted pushing her away.
Then I cleaned the house. Every room. Every hallway. Not because I expected her to return right away, but because if–when–she came back, I wanted it to be for her. Not for the man
Chapter 19
19:30 Fri, 18 Apr
who let his fear win.
I sent flowers every day.
The first time, they were returned.
The second, ignored.
The third, I left a note: “No pressure. Just love.”
I didn’t ask her to come back. I just wanted her to know she was still everything to me.
And then I showed up.
Not to beg. Not to make a scene. Just to see her.
She didn’t open the door.
But I saw the curtain move.
And that was enough.
59%
I kept coming back, once a day. Sometimes I brought pastries from her favorite café. Sometimes just notes. “I miss you.” “I’m sorry.” “I love you.”
Weeks passed. And slowly, her silence shifted.
One night, I found the flowers were gone–not thrown out, just missing. Taken inside. The smallest shift, but I noticed.
The day after that, her assistant told me she read one of my letters. That she didn’t cry this
time.
And then the next day–I saw her.
Just for a second. She stepped out to get her car and our eyes met. She didn’t look away.
That night, I stood outside her door and whispered, “I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But I love you, Jasmine. And I will keep showing up until you believe it.”
I turned to leave.
But her voice–soft and trembling–called out, “Rozen…”
I froze.
I turned around.
Her eyes held the same pain mine did. But they weren’t angry. Not anymore.
“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” she said.
“I don’t expect you to–not right away.” I stepped closer. “But I will earn it. Every day. I’m done running from the past. I just… I need you. Not to fill the silence. Not to prove something. Just… you.”
She looked at me for a long time. And then opened the door wider.
I stepped inside.
It wasn’t a grand reconciliation. There were no fireworks. No dramatic kisses.
Just her standing there, vulnerable.
And me, finally willing to be the man she deserved.
Chanter 10
213 7479
59%
19:30 Fri, 18 Apr
We talked.
We cried.
I told her everything–the jealousy, the fear, how I saw Mina in her because I was too afraid to lose again.
But Jasmine? She wasn’t Mina. She never made me feel less. She never gave up on me until I gave her a reason to.
She didn’t forgive me that night.
But she didn’t ask me to leave, either.
And for the first time in weeks, I slept. Not in our bed. On her couch. But I slept knowing I had one more chance to make things right.
The days after that were quiet. Careful.
I didn’t push.
I just stayed close. Helped with her work when she let me. Cooked breakfast. Walked her to meetings. Said good morning, and said nothing when she didn’t answer.
Then one afternoon, she reached for my hand.
I almost cried.
“I hated you,” she whispered.
“I hated myself more,” I replied.
She looked away. “But I also missed you.”
I pulled her gently into my arms, her head resting on my chest. “I’m not going anywhere this time.”
And I meant it.
We didn’t need to talk about the future. We were still healing. But for the first time, we were healing together.
That night, we lay in bed. Her head on my shoulder. My hand in her hair.
“I want to believe you, Rozen.”
“Then let me prove it.”
She tilted her head up, eyes searching mine. “No more cages?”
“No more cages,” I swore.
She kissed me. Soft. Tentative.
And I kissed her back like it was the first time. Like it would never be the last.
