Just A Random Story

chapter thre

~His pov~

It's been two months since I left with her, each day a winding road as we drift from town to town, searching for a place that might feel like home. Finally, we found this small town, cradled in a quiet valley, where the air carries the scent of blooming wildflowers and freshly brewed coffee. It's a place where people rarely pry, where we hoped to gather enough to leave again when the time was right. But if I were to drive back to Kendra and the kids, it would take nearly a week—a week that stretches into a lifetime, a distant echo of a life I no longer belong to.

She found a job at a little coffee shop just three blocks from the small apartment we rent—a modest space with peeling paint and creaky floors. I work as a mechanic at a local garage, surrounded by the scent of oil and rust, a stark contrast to the warmth of the coffee shop where she spends her days. She tells me how much she loves it here, how the town makes her happy, but I can see through that. It's in the way her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes, in the moments when she turns away from me too quickly, like a bird startled by a sudden noise. Sometimes, in the early hours before dawn, I hear her crying softly, muffled beneath the hum of traffic and the walls we've built between us. She never acknowledges it, hiding it behind her forced cheerfulness, a mask I can't seem to peel away. We've only been here a few weeks, and still, we don't have the money to leave yet.

I feel a growing knot of anxiety when it comes to talking about our emotions—things that dig too deep, that might push her into a place she doesn't want to go. We've always been able to discuss everything, but when it comes to her feelings, she erects this wall between us, impenetrable and cold. I know she's hurting, and I just want to be the one she trusts enough to let in.

Tonight, I can't take it anymore. I need to know. I need to understand.

"Are you happy here?" I ask softly, my voice barely above a whisper as we sit together in the dim light of the living room. The refrigerator hums in the background, a low, oppressive sound that amplifies the silence between us, making it feel suffocating.

Her response is immediate, flat, and it cuts through the air like glass shattering. "No."

The word hits me harder than I expected. "Tell me what's wrong," I beg, my voice strained, desperate for her to give me something—anything. "Please... let me in."

She looks at me, her eyes searching my face for something, but then she turns away, retreating behind that familiar wall. It kills me because I love her more than anything. I left my entire life behind for her, yet she can't see that. Why won't she let me help?

After a long, agonizing pause, she finally speaks, her voice barely a whisper. "How do I know you won't leave me, too?" She bites her lip, her chin trembling. "You left your wife and kids to be with me. How do I know you won't do the same to me? How do I trust that you won't just walk away when someone else comes along?"

Her words cut deep, sharper than I anticipated, sinking into my chest like shards of ice. I shake my head, disbelief morphing into frustration. "That doesn't make sense," I say, my voice trembling. "I left because I didn't love Kendra—not like I love you. I love you. Why would I ever leave you? You're the only one I want."

She looks away, brows furrowed in thought, slipping into that familiar silence that feels like an insurmountable barrier, keeping me on the outside of her mind, unable to breach the walls she's erected. She's always been able to read me, but I've never quite managed to decode her.

"I'd do anything for you," I tell her, my voice cracking with emotion. "Just ask. I want to make you happy. Tell me what to do."

She doesn't respond immediately. Instead, she slowly stands up, her movements deliberate, like each step is a carefully measured retreat. My chest tightens painfully as she crosses the room, her back to me now, reaching for something on the table. I feel the distance between us growing, suffocating me with each inch.

"I just want you to be happy," I say, my voice strained and pleading. "Please, tell me what I can do. I love you."

Still, she doesn't turn around. The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken doubts and fears, and for a moment, I feel like I'm losing her again. I can't bear it.

"I love you," I say again, louder now, my hands trembling. "I love you. Please look at me."

She stands motionless for what feels like an eternity. Then, finally, she turns—but her gaze drifts past me, distant, as if she's already halfway gone. Desperation claws at me, and I rise, crossing the room to her, desperate to close the gap.

I cup her face in my hands, her skin warm and soft against my palms. "Please," I whisper, "I love you so much. You're everything to me. Just tell me what to do."

For a fleeting moment, I think she'll relent, that she'll fall into me the way I need her to. But she doesn't. Slowly, she pulls my hands away from her face, her touch gentle, almost apologetic. She steps back, and in the dim light of the room, I see her eyes glisten with unshed tears, shimmering like fragile glass.

Without a word, she holds out her phone.

I look down at it, confusion swirling in my chest. "What...?"

"Call her," she says quietly, her voice breaking, each word a soft dagger plunging into my heart.

The weight of her request sinks in, heavy and suffocating, like a tidal wave crashing over me. I feel the floor fall out from under me as I stare at the phone in her trembling hand. Everything inside me twists—guilt, regret, love, fear. I left that life behind for her, yet here she stands, asking me to confront it again, to call Kendra.

I look into her eyes, and for the first time, I realize she doesn't want to know if I'll call. She needs to know if I've truly severed ties with that world, if I can break the final connection.

But as I stand there, frozen, phone in hand, I'm not sure I can.