Love Affair/ Roman Reigns

Room 109

After our passionate encounter, Roman and I decided to dress up and head to a restaurant he had raved about for weeks. He had been so enthusiastic about this place that I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement bubbling within me. With a twinkle in his eye, he arranged for an Uber to whisk us away to this culinary gem he had discovered. Roman claimed it offered genuine Lebanese dishes straight from Lebanon, and even though I had never tasted Lebanese food before, I was eager to explore the flavors and aromas that awaited us. 

As we settled into the backseat of the Uber, the city lights flickered past us, creating a romantic backdrop for our evening. Our fingers intertwined, and I felt a rush of warmth as our lips met in sweet kisses, each one igniting a spark of anticipation for the night ahead. The driver navigated through the bustling streets, and I could feel the energy of the city pulsing around us, mirroring the excitement in my heart. 

Thirteen minutes later, we arrived at the restaurant, and the tantalizing aroma of spices and grilled meats greeted us as we stepped out into the cool evening air. The restaurant's exterior was charming, adorned with twinkling lights and vibrant decorations that hinted at the culinary delights within. Once inside, we found ourselves waiting for a table, the atmosphere buzzing with laughter and conversation. Eagerly, we scanned the menus, our eyes darting over the array of dishes, each one promising a unique taste experience. I felt a sense of adventure as I read through the options—hummus, tabbouleh, kebabs, and baklava danced in my mind, each name more enticing than the last. Roman leaned closer, his voice low and inviting as he shared his favorites, his enthusiasm infectious. I could see the passion in his eyes as he described the rich flavors and textures of the dishes he loved, and I couldn't help but feel a thrill at the thought of trying something new.

We made our selections with enthusiasm, eagerly anticipating the flavors that awaited us. Roman, with a twinkle in his eye, opted for Shish Barak, a traditional dish of tender dumplings filled with spiced meat, swimming in a rich and aromatic yogurt sauce. He also chose a delightful Lebanese potato soufflé, known for its light and fluffy texture, infused with herbs and spices that would complement his main dish perfectly. Meanwhile, I decided to indulge in the savory Beef Kafta, a dish that promised a burst of flavors with its blend of ground beef mixed with fragrant spices, herbs, and onions. The thought of the grilled skewers, charred to perfection and served with a side of tangy tahini sauce, made my mouth water in anticipation. Each choice reflected our love for the rich culinary traditions of the region, and we couldn't wait to savor every bite of our carefully selected meals. 

Once we had finished our meal, we sat at the table, eagerly awaiting our waiter to bring the bill. Roman, his cheeks flushed with a hint of embarrassment, smiled at me while gently holding my hand. I was lost in the depths of his gaze when suddenly, the moment shattered. My phone buzzed insistently; it was a call from Chris' mother. I picked up, bracing myself for whatever news she had, and her words hit me like a punch: Chris was in the hospital, in the intensive care unit, after a suicide attempt. Roman's expression turned grave as my heart sank. I quickly explained the urgency of the situation, and we hurriedly made our way out of the restaurant, flagging down a cab to take us to the Los Angeles Hospital.

The moment we hopped into the taxi, we urged the driver to speed up, desperate to reach our hotel room. Upon arrival, we dashed to the elevator, snatched our bags, and then rode back down to catch another taxi. Roman extended his hand toward me, but I brushed him away. Overwhelmed, I burst into tears, grappling with the chaos of Chris's choices. It felt as if my world had crumbled. Roman wrapped his arms around me, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead, promising me that everything would be okay.

Once we arrived at the airport, Roman and I climbed aboard our flight to Los Angeles. My thoughts were consumed with worries about my spouse, leaving me unable to catch a wink of sleep on the plane. I couldn't shake the feeling of guilt over Chris's attempted suicide. My mind was a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. Throughout the entire flight, Roman wrapped his arms around me, providing unwavering support until we touched down.

After landing in Los Angeles, we made our way to the hospital in my car. The city buzzed around us, but I felt like I was in a bubble, isolated from the world outside. Overwhelmed with emotion, I couldn't bring myself to drive; my hands trembled on the steering wheel, and my mind raced with worry. So, Roman, sensing my distress, stepped in to take the wheel. His calm demeanor was a comfort as we navigated the busy streets, the sun casting long shadows on the pavement.

Together, we reached the hospital, a sprawling complex that loomed ahead, its sterile facade a stark contrast to the vibrant city. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart, and we parked the car. The air was thick with anxiety as we made our way through the automatic sliding doors, the scent of antiseptic filling my nostrils. I approached the front desk, my voice barely above a whisper as I asked the nurse for Chris. She looked up from her computer, her expression a mix of professionalism and empathy. After a moment that felt like an eternity, she provided us with his room number, and I felt a surge of urgency.

We hopped on the elevator, the doors sliding shut with a soft whoosh, and I pressed the button for the third floor. As we ascended, I could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to a long, sterile hallway lined with rooms. We walked into room 109, my heart pounding in my chest. The sight of Chris lying there, connected to various machines, was both a relief and a fresh wave of despair. I stepped inside, my breath catching in my throat as I took in the scene. Roman followed closely behind, his presence a steadying force as we faced the reality of the situation together. 

Elizabeth, Chris's mother, spotted us and marched over, her face twisted in anger. "My son took his own life because of you two! You have no right to be here. You should both feel utterly ashamed!" she exclaimed. Confused, I asked her to clarify what she meant. She revealed that Chris had found out about my affair with Roman when someone sent him explicit photos of us together while he was at work. The weight of the revelation hit me and Roman hard. We both knew that Bayley was the only one who could have leaked those images to Chris. She succeeded! That son of a bitch!

 
As Roman lingered outside, I stepped into the room where Chris lay, met by the disapproving glares of his family. With my heart heavy, I approached Chris, my gaze cast down, tears flowing freely. I pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, my sobs echoing in the stillness. Just then, one of Chris's uncles drew near, delivering the crushing news that the doctor had grimly indicated Chris might be declared brain-dead or face an uncertain survival. Both outcomes felt like a devastating blow. I was utterly unprepared to confront the possibility of losing my husband in such a heart-wrenching way. As Chris's uncles stepped out, Roman came to my side, offering solace. We settled together on the hospital sofa, waiting for the doctor, our hearts heavy with dread beside Chris.

Chris's heart fell silent, only to start beeping again two hours later. I felt the chilling grip of death closing in; it was unmistakable. Roman and I urgently summoned the doctors and nurses for help. At 4:34 a.m., after every possible effort had been made, the doctors delivered the heartbreaking news: Chris was gone. I was overwhelmed with grief, sobbing and screaming, desperately begging for Chris to come back. No amount of tears could change the reality; my beloved Chris was lost to me forever.