Her Deviant Husband | [✓]

Chapter 65 (M)

Mature: Sexual Content.

They say time heals everything.
That's only half true.

Time might fade bruises, dull the sting, and soften the edges of sharp memories—but some wounds linger in places no scan can detect. Wounds that settle quietly in the corners of your soul, disguised beneath laughter and small talk. Like the hollow in my chest that I try to hide as best I can from everyone around me. Especially from Reyansh.

I don't want him to break again. I don't want him to carry the weight of something that wasn't his fault.

It's been over a month since we lost our baby. I've come to terms with it—or at least, that's what I tell myself in the mirror every morning. I've learned how to say it without crying, how to nod and breathe through the silence that follows when someone offers me sympathy. But it doesn't hurt any less.

And I think it's changed Reyansh too.

He doesn't say it. He doesn't have to.

Even when we kiss, his hands always linger at safe places—my face, my waist, sometimes tangled gently in my hair. Never anywhere lower, like he's afraid to touch the parts of me that were once a home to our unborn child. As if my grief might leak through his fingertips.

And when he pulls away, he just... talks.

For hours. About anything and everything—books, politics, his latest client disaster, random trivia about foxes and space—and I love it. I love all of it. But a part of me knows he's doing it to soothe something in me. That he senses the chaos behind my carefully composed mask. The storm I try so hard to bottle up.

Physically, I'm getting better. My hair's grown almost three inches in just three weeks, which has become my new bragging right. Silly, I know—but there's something satisfying about knowing some part of me is thriving.

The bruises on my arms have faded into sickly yellow patches. Nearly gone.

The swelling in my ankle is down. The stitches were taken out earlier this week.