unexpected love (Leah Williamson)

Fractured Moments

Leah's POV:

The days after my injury blurred together, filled with doctor's appointments, insurance calls, and well-meaning texts from friends and family. Despite their support, I was consumed by frustration and anger, feeling trapped in a body that wasn't cooperating. The doctors had confirmed what I feared a complete ACL tear. Surgery was scheduled, but they made it clear I was facing a year of recovery, maybe more.

Ella came by nearly every evening, staying with me through long silences and quiet moments. She brought food, offered to help with anything I needed, and stayed up late when I couldn't sleep. But the longer this dragged on, the more suffocated I felt. The injury had stripped me of my purpose, my identity, and with every well-meaning question, every comforting touch, I felt the bitterness creeping up.

One evening, she arrived with a small bag of my favorite takeaway, smiling as she unpacked it on the table. She chatted, filling the silence with updates on her day, stories from work. But I couldn't bring myself to engage, my thoughts spiraling around everything I'd lost.

When she finally asked, "Leah, are you okay? I know this is hard, but... maybe it'll get easier if you open up a bit," something inside me snapped.

"Easier?" I scoffed, glaring at her. "What do you know about any of this, Ella? You're not the one who's lost everything."

Ella looked taken aback, hurt flashing in her eyes. "Leah, I know it's not the same, but I'm trying to help you. You're not alone."

"Well, it sure feels like it!" I shot back. "You can't understand, Ella. You have your career, you're out there saving lives every day. Football was all I had, and now... it's gone."

Her face softened as she reached out a hand, but I pulled away, my anger boiling over. "I don't need you to play the hero. Just... stop trying to fix me. I don't need saving."

The silence that followed was thick and painful. I'd never seen her look at me like that—like I'd hurt her, deeply. Her eyes welled up, but she held her ground, her voice steady but strained.

"You think I'm here because I pity you?" she asked, her voice tight with emotion. "Leah, I care about you. I'm here because I love you. But if you keep pushing me away, maybe I won't be."

The words hung between us, raw and real. I wanted to take back everything I'd said, but the damage was done. My own anger and pain had blinded me to the fact that she was just trying to be there for me, to help me in whatever way she could.

"Ella, I..." I began, but she shook her head, her voice breaking.

"No, Leah. You're hurting, but that doesn't give you the right to hurt me."

She grabbed her bag and moved toward the door, her shoulders stiff, her face a mixture of sadness and disappointment. I wanted to call out, to stop her, but the words wouldn't come. All I could do was watch as she walked out, the sound of the door closing behind her echoing in the empty apartment.

Ella's POV:

As I left Leah's apartment, I felt the tears spill over, my heart aching. I'd tried so hard to be there for her, to help her through this, but she'd thrown it back in my face. It felt like a betrayal, and it hurt more than I wanted to admit.

I replayed her words in my mind, the way she'd dismissed my attempts to help, the resentment in her voice. I knew she was in pain, but her anger had cut deep. How could she not see that I cared, that I was here for her because I loved her? I hadn't realized until now how much I'd wanted her to see that, to recognize what we were building together.

The following days were difficult. I forced myself to stay busy at work, throwing myself into rounds, paperwork, and patient care. But every time I had a moment to think, my thoughts drifted back to Leah, the pain of her words still raw.

Part of me wanted to reach out, to check on her, but another part of me resisted. She needed to understand that pushing me away wouldn't make the pain go away—it would only deepen it. If we were going to move forward, she needed to see that.

Leah's POV:

The days without Ella felt empty, hollow. The quiet of my apartment echoed, and I was left alone with my thoughts—left to face the mess I'd made. I replayed our argument over and over, realizing just how harsh I'd been, how unfair I'd been to her. Ella had only been trying to help, and I'd thrown her kindness back at her.

Finally, one night, I couldn't take it anymore. I picked up my phone and typed out a message, my fingers hesitating as I struggled to find the right words.

"Ella, I'm sorry. I know I hurt you, and I didn't mean to. You didn't deserve any of that. I just... I'm not handling this well, and I took it out on you. Can we talk?"

I waited, my heart racing, my hands shaking as I stared at my phone. A few minutes passed, then her response came through.

"I'll think about it. But Leah... if we talk, you need to be honest with me. And with yourself."

The words stung, but I knew she was right. If I wanted any chance of making things right, I needed to face my pain head-on, instead of pushing it onto her. Ella deserved more than I'd given her, and if I wanted to keep her in my life, I needed to be better.

And I was determined to be.