Page 96 of Unfaithful

"But she doesn't know it yet," Julian added, his grin widening. "I just need to convince her first."

I nodded, feeling slightly dazed. I mumbled a goodbye and headed back to my car. Then, I just sat there. For a long time. Staring into space, trying to quiet my mind.

When I finally drove away almost two hours later, Sara still hadn't come home.

"Good." Her response pulled me out of my thoughts. "It was really nice."

She didn't ask how I knew, so I figured Julian must have told her I came by.

I nodded. "I'm happy for you," I said, meaning every word. "He's a good guy."

"You do?" She sounded surprised.

But I did. If she was happy, then I would be happy too.

Lately, I have learned a lot. And the more I understood myself, the more I realized just how fucked up I was. How selfish, how conceited I was.

My love had been toxic to her. Being with me had only deepened her wounds instead of healing them.

I used to believe that love alone was enough, that as long as I loved her, everything would work out. But love wasn't supposed to suffocate. It wasn't supposed to break someone down just to keep them close.

And that's exactly what I did to Sara.

She had every right to walk away. And if I truly loved her, I had to let her go.

Loving her didn't mean keeping her tethered to me, holding on so tightly that she couldn't breathe. It didn't meanconvincing her I was the only one who could love her the way she deserved. Because the truth was, I hadn't. I had failed her in ways I could never take back, hurt her in ways that left scars I couldn't erase.

Real love wasn't about possession. It wasn't about winning or proving myself to her. It was about giving her the freedom to find what truly made her happy, even if that happiness didn't include me.

And that was the hardest lesson of all. Because every fiber of my being still ached for her, still wanted to be the one she turned to. But if I truly loved her, I had to put her happiness before my own. And to keep supporting her, to be there for her whenever she needed me. Even if it meant watching her walk away. Even if it meant learning how to exist in a world where she no longer belonged to me.

That wasn't easy to accept. To admit. And a part of me still refused to give up—hence the roses, waiting on her desk every morning.

It shattered me into fucking pieces. Especially now, like this, sitting next to her, so close, yet impossibly far away.

But for her, I vowed to be a better man. I just had to learn to live with the ache, to keep moving forward even when it hurt.

Just like her.

She carried her pain with quiet strength, never letting it break her.

Strong like her.

I wanted—needed—to be like her.

"I really do," I said softly, smiling. "I want you to be happy."

She studied me, her gaze searching my face as if trying to find a trace of something—doubt, regret, a lie. But whatever she was looking for, she didn't find it.

She turned away, falling quiet for a moment before finally speaking.

"You've changed," she murmured. "I've noticed. You're different now."

"How so?" I asked.

"I don't know..." She hesitated, as if struggling to put it into words. "It's like you've softened. Resigned."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" I asked.

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