Best Mistake | Nicholas Chavez

Thirty one | healing

Amara sat curled up on the couch, staring blankly at the TV while Nicholas brought her tea. Her manager had postponed her tour dates, giving her time to heal, but Amara hadn't said much since the hospital visit. Nicholas, staying at her house and refusing to leave her side, tried his best to keep things together, though his own pain was evident.

Their family & friends checked in every few days, careful not to overwhelm the couple, and Nicholas had even worked with Amara's mom to plan a visit, hoping it would lift her spirits. When her mom arrived, Amara was surprised but appreciative, letting herself be comforted. For those few days, her mother's presence added some warmth, but when she left, the emptiness returned.

Nicholas found himself alone with Amara's mom in the kitchen as she packed up her things. She noticed the weariness in his face and gently asked, "How are you holding up, Nicholas?"

He hesitated before admitting, "I'm trying, but it's hard. I don't know how to deal with this. Amara hasn't really let me in... she just shuts down, and I feel like I'm failing her."

Her mom reached for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Amara's always been like that. She feels deeply but struggles to share it. It's not about you, Nicholas. She loves you so much—it's just her way of coping."

"I just want to help her," he confessed, his voice cracking. "But I feel like I'm making it worse."

"You're not," she assured him. "The fact that you're here, staying by her side, means everything. Just keep talking to her, even when it's hard. She'll let you in when she's ready."

Nicholas nodded, her words grounding him. "Thank you. I'll try."

Her mom smiled softly. "You're a good man, Nicholas. She's lucky to have you, and so am I."

That evening, as Nicholas cleaned up after dinner, the tension in the air thickened. "Amara, please talk to me," he said gently, sitting beside her.

"There's nothing to talk about," she replied quietly, her voice distant. " I am going to bed. Good night,"

The house was still and quiet as the night deepened. Amara had gone to bed early, emotionally and physically drained, leaving Nicholas alone in the living room. He sat on the edge of the couch, his elbows on his knees, staring at his hands as if searching for answers in the creases of his palms.

A weight pressed down on him—a crushing mix of sadness, helplessness, and anger. The silence amplified his thoughts, and he felt the tears building before he could stop them.

Nicholas leaned forward, burying his face in his hands as the tears fell. His shoulders shook, and he tried to keep his sobs quiet, not wanting to wake Amara. The image of her in the hospital, pale and scared, haunted him. He thought about the life they hadn't even known they had—a future that had been ripped away before they could imagine it.

He hated that he couldn't fix this. He hated that Amara seemed to be shutting him out, even though he knew it wasn't intentional. Most of all, he hated the deep, gnawing guilt that he hadn't noticed something was wrong sooner.

The sound of a soft creak made him look up. Amara stood in the doorway, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but filled with concern. She walked toward him slowly, her bare feet padding softly against the floor.

"Nicholas..." she whispered, kneeling in front of him. She reached out, brushing a tear from his cheek.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice raw. "I just—I don't know how to handle this."