•His Unmarried Widow!•

16. My fault??

A D H W I T

The silence of the room was unbearable, yet my mind roared with accusations and regret. I couldn’t stop pacing, the memory of her horrified expression carved deep into my thoughts.

She had been soaked, her clothes clinging to her skin, shivering after the shower. I panicked, worried she’d get sick, and told her to change into something dry. But she’d been too drunk, too exhausted to respond. I had done what I thought was right—helped her change into clean clothes and made sure she was comfortable before leaving her to sleep.

When she woke up, the storm hit.

Her voice, trembling with rage and disbelief, echoed in my head. “What did you do to me?”

I froze, her words piercing like knives. My explanations stumbled over my tongue, every attempt met with a wall of anger and mistrust. She didn’t even want to hear me. To her, it was already decided—I’d taken advantage of her in her vulnerable state.

The thought alone made me nauseous. Did she really think I was capable of something so vile? My stomach churned as I remembered the way she pulled away from me, her eyes filled with disgust.

I sank onto the edge of the door, burying my face in my hands. Guilt and frustration churned inside me. I should have called someone else to help. Should have done anything but what I did. I hadn’t even thought of how it might look to her later—I’d only wanted to help.

How had it come to this?

My phone sat on the table, her name glowing on the screen where I’d been staring at it for what felt like hours. Should I call her? Would she even pick up?
Because I didn't had the courage to face her now.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I whispered to the empty room, but the words felt hollow. The damage was already done, and her trust in me was shattered.

I couldn’t let it end like this, though. I couldn’t let her think I was someone I’m not.

She deserved the truth, but how could I make her believe it? How could I convince her that all I wanted was to keep her safe, to take care of her?

The thought of losing her over this misunderstanding felt unbearable, but even as the hours passed, doubt took root. Maybe she’d never forgive me. Maybe no explanation would ever be enough.

The weight of it all pressed down on me like a heavy fog. All I could do now was try—because losing her without a fight wasn’t an option. Even if I had to wait forever, I had to make her see the truth. She meant too much to me to let her go like this.

The walk to her room felt endless, each step heavier than the last. By the time I reached her door, my palms were slick with sweat. I raised my hand to knock, hesitating for a moment. What if she didn’t even want to see me?

No, I had to do this.

The door opened faster than I expected, and there she was. Her eyes were red, her face pale. She didn’t look angry—not anymore. Just distant. Cold.

“Hey,” I started softly, my voice trembling. “I need to talk to you. Please, just give me a chance to explain—”

“Get out.”

Her words were calm but final, like a door slamming shut in my face.

I froze, the breath catching in my chest. “Wait, please,” I stammered. “You don’t understand—”

“I said, get out.”

Her tone didn’t change, but the way she avoided looking at me, the way her hand tightened on the doorframe, cut deeper than any shout could have.

My heart dropped. She wasn’t going to listen. Not now, maybe not ever.

“I didn’t—” I began, but she shook her head sharply, cutting me off.

“I don’t want to hear it. Just go.”

There was no room for argument in her voice, no crack in her resolve where I could slip through and explain myself. The door inched closer to shutting, and panic rose in my chest.

“I would never hurt you,” I said desperately. “You have to believe me. Please.”

But she didn’t answer. She didn’t even look at me.

And then the door closed.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the wood grain, willing it to open again. Hoping she’d change her mind, that she’d realize this was all a misunderstanding. But nothing happened.

The world around me felt quiet and hollow as I turned away, my chest tight, my steps heavy. Each one felt like it was taking me further from her, from any chance of making this right.

She didn’t want to hear me. She didn’t want anything to do with me.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, my mind spinning. Maybe this wasn’t the time. Maybe I needed to give her space. But how could I, when the thought of her believing the worst about me was tearing me apart?

By the time I reached my own door, the weight of it all crashed down. I slumped onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling, the ache in my chest spreading.

She had already made up her mind. She didn’t believe me. And the worst part? I didn’t know if I’d ever get the chance to change that.

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A glance misplaced, a word unsaid,
A fragile bridge turns stone instead.
Truth lost beneath the shadow’s sway,
Misunderstood, we drift away.

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Thank you!!