Angela stood in Will’s kitchen, the scent of simmering herbs and spices filling the air. She moved around the space with a practiced grace, chopping vegetables and stirring a bubbling pot of soup. Each clink of the utensils echoed in the quiet house, a stark contrast to the turmoil in her heart. She had taken it upon herself to care for Patrick in the wake of Will’s death, hoping that through small gestures, she could rekindle the bond they once shared.
But every day felt like a struggle. Patrick was like a ghost, drifting through the house without truly engaging with her. He would sit at the table, staring blankly out the window, lost in thoughts that Angela knew must be heavy with grief. She yearned to reach him, to pull him out of the darkness that had enveloped him since losing his father.
“Hey, I made your favorite soup,” she called out, trying to keep her tone light. She ladled the warm liquid into two bowls, placing one in front of him.
He barely glanced at her, his expression still distant. “Thanks,” he muttered, pushing the bowl aside.
Angela’s heart sank. “Patrick, can we talk?” she asked, taking a seat across from him.
He didn’t look up. “I’m not really in the mood.”
“Please,” she pressed, desperation creeping into her voice. “I just want to understand what you’re going through. I want to be here for you.”
He finally met her gaze, his eyes cold and hardened. “I don’t need your sympathy, Angela. I’m fine.”
“Fine?” she echoed incredulously. “You haven’t smiled in days. You’re not fine. You’re pushing me away, and I don’t know why!”
“I just need some space,” he replied curtly, standing abruptly and leaving the kitchen.
Angela felt a rush of frustration mixed with heartbreak. This had become their daily routine: her trying to reach out, and him retreating further into himself. Each day, the distance between them grew, and with it, her despair deepened.
Days turned into weeks, and the silence became unbearable. Angela watched as Patrick increasingly withdrew, spending time in his room or going out for long walks, leaving her alone in the house that felt more like a prison than a refuge.
One evening, as she prepared dinner, she overheard Patrick talking on the phone, his voice low and intimate. Her heart clenched when she recognized the name he was speaking to—Stephanie. The thought of his ex-girlfriend made her blood boil, a mix of jealousy and hurt washing over her.
That night, after yet another day of him avoiding her, Angela couldn’t hold it in any longer. She stormed into the living room where Patrick was sprawled on the couch, his attention focused on his phone. “Can we talk?” she demanded, her voice firm.
“Not now, Angela,” he replied without looking up.
“Why not? You’re always too busy for me! Is it because of her?” she snapped, her anger boiling over.
He looked up finally, irritation flickering in his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Stephanie!” she shouted, unable to contain herself. “You’re always talking to her! Are you going to let her waltz back into your life? What do you see in her?”
Patrick’s expression hardened. “What does it matter to you?”
“It matters because I care about you!” she cried, stepping closer, her heart racing. “I’ve been here, trying to help you, but it’s like I don’t even exist to you! You’re not fine, and pretending you are is only hurting us both!”
He stood up, his frustration evident. “This isn’t about you, Angela! You don’t know what I’m feeling!”
“Then let me in! Please!” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I just want you to see that I’m here for you!”
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. Patrick stared at her, his jaw clenched, the silence stretching painfully between them. “You think this is love?” he finally said, shaking his head. “You’re just upset that I’m not falling all over you like some lovesick fool.”
Angela felt her heart drop. “That’s not fair!” she protested. “I’ve done everything I can to show you I care. You’ve pushed me away at every turn, and now I’m just supposed to stand here and watch you go back to Stephanie?”
“Stephanie didn’t do anything to me,” he defended, the anger in his voice rising. “She’s been there for me in a way you haven’t. You’re the one who left me when I needed you the most, remember?”
“I didn’t leave! I thought it would be better for you!” Angela shouted, tears welling in her eyes. “I thought you wanted her!”
“I don’t feel anything for you, Angela. I don’t even know you,” Patrick spat, his voice harsh. “You’re just a distraction.”
The words struck her like a physical blow. She staggered back, blinking in disbelief. “You don’t mean that,” she whispered, feeling the walls she had tried so hard to break down come crashing around her.
“Maybe I do,” he shot back, his expression unreadable.
“Patrick, please…” Her voice broke, the tears spilling down her cheeks.
But he merely turned away, the finality of his rejection hanging heavily in the air. Angela stood there, trembling, the weight of his words suffocating her. She had poured her heart out, only to have it thrown back in her face.
As she sank to the couch, the ache in her chest grew unbearable. She had tried to show him love, but all he saw was weakness. Alone in that room, she felt more isolated than ever, the love she had for him now twisted into a painful reminder of everything she had lost.
In that moment, Angela realized that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t force him to see her, to love her back. All she could do was endure the silence and the heartache, waiting for a change that felt impossibly far away.
YOU ARE READING
Fated Encounters
FantasiIn a world where humans coexist with supernatural beings, Patrick possesses extraordinary powers, including the ability to control gravity and molecules, and move as fast as lightning. His father, Will, has been kidnapped by their nemesis, and the o...
