Broken Heart

59 Broken

David's POV

The nights were the worst. They were a battleground of grief and fear, a relentless assault on my already fragile state. Sleep offered no respite, only a descent into the twisted landscape of my nightmares, a place where Kevin was always just out of reach, always on the verge of being lost forever.

Last night's dream was particularly vivid, particularly cruel. I was surrounded by darkness, a suffocating void that pressed in on me from all sides. I couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything, only feel the oppressive weight of loss, the chilling certainty that Kevin was gone.

Then, a sound. A faint, distant whisper, a mournful cry that seemed to come from the depths of the darkness. And then, a figure. The back of my husband, Kevin, standing precariously close to the edge of a cliff. The cliff from which he supposedly fell.

I ran to him, my heart pounding with a desperate hope, my legs heavy and leaden, as if the darkness itself was trying to hold me back. I screamed his name, my voice echoing in the void, pleading with him to turn around, to come back to me. He turned. His face was pale, his eyes hollow and empty, devoid of the warmth and love I knew so well. And then, he spoke, his voice a chilling monotone that sent shivers down my spine.

"I don't love you," he said. The words were like a physical blow, a dagger twisting in my heart. They were the antithesis of everything he had ever said, everything he had ever shown me. And then, he fell. He stepped off the cliff, into the abyss, his body disappearing into the darkness, leaving me alone, screaming his name, my heart shattering into a million pieces.

I woke up with a gasp, my body drenched in sweat, my heart pounding in my chest, the echoes of his words ringing in my ears. The nightmare was so real, so vivid, that for a moment, I couldn't tell where the dream ended and reality began. I lay in bed, trembling, the darkness of the room mirroring the darkness of my dream, the silence broken only by the frantic beating of my heart.

Eventually, I managed to pull myself together, to force myself out of bed, to begin the routine of the day. But the nightmare lingered, a dark shadow hanging over me, a constant reminder of the fear and despair that lurked beneath the surface of my forced composure.

I got ready for work, forcing myself to function, to be the strong Luna, the capable CEO, the Dada my children needed. But inside, I was crumbling, slowly, inexorably, the pain of Kevin's absence a constant, gnawing ache.

As I made breakfast, the twins, my daughters, Mia and Selene, came into the kitchen. They were always together, inseparable, two halves of a whole. And ever since Kevin disappeared, they had become even more clingy, more dependent on me. They clung to me like vines, their small hands clutching my legs, their eyes filled with a constant, unspoken plea for reassurance, for comfort, for a return to the normalcy they had lost.

This morning, they wrapped their arms around my legs, their small bodies pressing against me, their faces buried. They didn't say anything, they didn't need to. Their silent presence, their desperate need for my touch, spoke volumes. It was a constant reminder of the void Kevin had left, the void that was growing wider and deeper with each passing day.

My sons, Ethan and Evan, were different. They were older, more stoic, more like their Dad in their guardedness. They didn't cling, they didn't cry, but I could feel their sadness, their confusion, their anger. They had retreated into themselves, burying their grief beneath a wall of silence and withdrawal. They spent most of their time in their study, poring over books, losing themselves in their studies, as if trying to escape the reality of their father's absence.
They were polite, respectful, but distant. They didn't talk about Kevin, they didn't mention his name, but I could see the pain in their eyes, the unspoken questions that haunted them. They were like their father, refusing to show their emotions, but I knew, I could feel their hearts breaking, their young lives forever altered by the loss of their father.

The children, in their different ways, were a constant reminder of Kevin. The girls, with their desperate clinging, their need for my constant presence, and the boys, with their silent withdrawal, their stoic grief. They were all broken, all wounded by his absence, and I was left to pick up the pieces, to try to hold us all together, to be both Dada and Dad, to be both strong and vulnerable, to be everything Kevin had been and everything he was no longer.

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The End