I stop her when she turns to leave. My throat clogs, desperation clawing at my skin as I form my next words as carefully as I can. “You’remyCece.” I step closer, cocooning her in a bubble that’s just ours. “You are brilliant. You’re strength. God. You’re so terrifyingly smart. You’re the woman who built entire divisions of Wentworth Group before she turnedthirty. You’re the woman who rates coffees with her own eccentric Cece-scale. You’re the woman who makes spreadsheets for vacations because it makes that little chaos in your head more exciting than daunting.”
A reluctant twitch touches her lips, and I latch onto it desperately. Even though it’s barely perceptible.
“You’re the woman who loves so fiercely, and I…” I pause to sniffle softly, eyes stinging. “I took it for granted.”
Her expression falters for half a second, crumbling slightly before she holds herself together again. “That’s not… that’s notthis Cece.”
I shake my head. “You’re stillyou. And every version of you, I’ll love. I promise.”
“Maybe,” she whispers, eyes blanking.
The single word guts me. Because I know she’s trying to believe me. God, she’s trying so damn hard.
But she’s fighting a battle I can’t punch, threaten, negotiate with, or even fix. All I can do is stand beside her, let my actions speak for themselves.
But I still hate feeling this powerless. Because the woman I love is standing right in front of me, and I can’t reach her no matter how hard I try.
The silence stretches between us before I break it. “Let’s go home, okay?”
She starts to shake her head, but I cut in smoothly, like I am the one who needs saving. “I’m not really feeling it, baby. Honestly, let’s just go. Please?”
And just like that, she lets me be her excuse.
Together, we start walking back toward the exit, my eyes lingering on everyone’s curious, watchful gaze.
We were meant to look like a united front. Adevoted couple standing strong.
Instead, we gave them the truth for the last few minutes. The sordid, vulnerable reality of two people weathering a storm. For some reason, that feels more real than any tactic we could’ve played.
The moment we reach home, she changes quickly, and heads to bed, as if this day has suddenly taken everything from her.
Which it has—in a way.
The second her head hits the pillow, her breathing slows. And I sit there, on the edge of the bed, watching her for a precious few minutes.
She looks peaceful. But I know what it took to get her here. How hard she worked not to break in public. How everything is designed to break this woman right now.
I brush a stray hair from her face, but she doesn’t stir.
And that’s when I leave the room.
Out on the couch, I collapse. The cold fabric against my spine feels earned.
I force myself to read the damn article again. And it takes only mere seconds before my eyes sting. Reading—and rereading—every single comment that’s aimed at my woman.
I unlock Cece’s phone as well, making sure I’ve blocked the new set of business emails who would surely contact her after this article.
The second the clock hits 23:00, her phone blares with a reminder, and I frown.
Order MuscleCore Nutro100 x 2 (3?)
I quickly silence it, my eyes focusing hard on thewords that make no sense.
That’s the protein brand I use, the one Cece recommended. And I feel my heart sink at the realization of why there is a reminder on her phone to buy it.
She was the one stocking it in my damn pantry.
I click on the reminder and am immediately directed to the linked note she has on it.
