Heart Me

35

Stone stood in the silence of their bedroom, the weight of the confrontation pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. His heart hammered against his ribcage, its frantic rhythm the only sound breaking the stillness. The faint echo of Iris's footsteps disappearing into the kitchen twisted in his gut. His hands, trembling, ran through his hair, now dry but heavy with the tension hanging in the air. The text to Nora was supposed to be a final line in the sand, yet it did little to heal the wound he'd carved into his marriage. The phone felt like a foreign object in his hand, and with a frustrated exhale, he threw it onto the bed. It bounced against the pillow, motionless-like everything in the room, static while his mind whirled. His gaze drifted toward the door, his body pulled toward the kitchen, but his legs refused to move. Every inch of him wanted to follow her, to grab her hand and beg for forgiveness, but fear kept him rooted in place. What if he'd really ruined things this time? What if every plea, every explanation, couldn't touch the deep hurt that now lodged itself in her chest? She was starting to trust him, and it really felt like he broke it. Could it ever be repaired now? He could see her face in his mind-her lips trembling, the tears streaking her cheeks-and it gutted him. The desperation clawed at him, his breath hitching in his throat. She had to know. She had to understand that this wasn't who he was-that Nora meant nothing. She always meant nothing compared to what they had.

What we could still have.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to block out the swirl of thoughts that screamed:

Too late, too late. You fucked it all up this time. You lied to her, Stone.

Stone took a step toward the door, his footfall light, hesitant. Iris needed space. What if charging in would push her further away, deepen the wound? But the gnawing pit in his stomach wouldn't let him stop. He had to know. He had to try. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic beating in his chest, but it was pointless. His throat tightened, and his hands clenched into fists by his sides.

"I can't lose her..." The words barely left his lips, more like a prayer to himself than anything else. "...we were on the path. We made so much progress..."

He was determined though - determined to not let this destroy them. But every step he took felt heavier than the last. His body moved, but his mind kept spinning, replaying the sight of Iris turning her back on him, her figure disappearing into the shadows of the hallway. The memory of her pulling away from his touch flashed again, and it pierced through him like a knife. He had failed her. He had let her down in the worst way possible.

At the threshold, he paused, gripping the doorframe as if it could steady him. Should he give her a moment alone? Should he respect that space she seemed to crave, or would leaving her to her thoughts make things worse? His fingers drummed against the wood, the indecision gnawing at his resolve. He couldn't just stand there, waiting for things to fix themselves, but he couldn't charge in without knowing what she needed. His breaths were shallow now, panic beginning to claw at his chest. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out every rational thought. He swallowed hard, blinking away the moisture that blurred his vision. The thought of her downstairs, in the kitchen-alone, angry, hurting-was unbearable. Stone clenched his jaw. He had to face this. He had to face her, no matter how painful it was, no matter what she might say. He wasn't going to let his fear paralyze him anymore. With a final exhale, he stepped into the hallway, the echo of his footfalls following him like a ghost, as he made his way toward the kitchen-toward whatever truth awaited him there.

Iris stood in the kitchen. Eyes unfocused as she leaned heavily against the cool marble counter. The air around her felt thick, and her chest ached as if it were trying to expand against the weight of a truth too heavy to bear. Her mind swirled with the chaos of the last hour-Stone's confession, the tears, the anger, the betrayal. It felt like everything she had rebuilt since their separation was crumbling, piece by fragile piece, right in front of her. The faint hum of the refrigerator buzzed in the silence, but it barely registered. She needed something-anything-to take the edge off the tension coiled so tightly inside her. With trembling fingers, she reached for the handle of the fridge and opened it, her gaze barely landing on the chilled bottle of Chardonnay tucked into the door. The label blurred in her vision as she grabbed it, the cold sensation biting into her skin a welcome distraction from the heat of her emotions.