Page 88 of Unfaithful

But I also knew that a large part of her heart held hurt. Hurt that I had caused.

The surrounding street buzzed with life: people hurried past, cars sped by, and the world moved in its usual chaotic rhythm. Yet, it felt as though we existed in a bubble, untouched and separated from everything else. My entire being was attuned to her—the rhythm of her steps, the subtle shifts in her movements, the soft cadence of her breathing, and the quiet, unconscious sighs that escaped her, as if her heart waswhispering her troubled thoughts she didn't even realize she was telling.

Without a word, we both knew where we were heading. The park close to her house, held the echoes of our past, where we used to sit and lie on a picnic blanket, sharing sandwiches brought from home and thermoses filled with steaming coffee. It had been our Saturday morning ritual, a quiet sanctuary. Though it was no longer morning and the sun hung high in the sky, the park still felt like our safe place. There, the memories weren't as fractured, and the weight of the world seemed to lift, allowing us to speak in peace.

In silence, I whispered a prayer—a plea. I told her I love her, that I was begging for her forgiveness, that I would do anything, anything, to make things right. That there was no one like her, no one I could ever love more than her. And I was sorry—so sorry—for realizing it too late, for taking her for granted, for betraying the trust she had given me.

Would she believe me if I said all that? Could my words, no matter how earnest, mend her broken heart or piece together her fractured trust in me? Would it even make a difference, or was it too late for apologies, too late for the promises I now ached to keep?

Or would my existence, my very presence, only deepen the hurt? Would I, without meaning to, shatter her even more? The thought clawed at me, a relentless ache I couldn't escape. I knew some wounds ran too deep for words alone to heal. And yet, the thought of walking away, of leaving her to carry the weight of my mistakes alone, felt like its own kind of betrayal.

I was trapped between the fear of hurting her further and the desperate need to stay, to fight for her, for us.

"Where do you want to sit?" Her voice, soft and tentative, pulled me from the whirlwind of my thoughts. I glanced down, finding her eyes already on me, searching, a flicker of nervousness in their depths. For a moment, I hesitated, caught in her gaze, before forcing a smile. "Wherever you like," I replied, my voice gentle, careful not to disrupt the fragile peace between us.

"How about there?" She pointed toward a familiar bench nestled under the shade of a sprawling tree, its branches stretching wide like a canopy. The bench faced the fishpond, its surface shimmering faintly under the sunlight. It was our quiet spot, hidden enough to feel like a refuge from the world, yet open enough to let in the gentle sounds of rustling leaves and the occasional ripple of water.

"Okay," I nodded.

We walked toward the bench, the space between us feeling strange, both too wide and too close all at once. I glanced at her, wondering if she felt it too: the memories of us lingering in the air, the hurt that hadn't faded, and the quiet, stubborn hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still something left between us worth holding onto.

When we sat down, my eyes stayed on her. I couldn't look away. Her face, so beautiful, so exquisite, made my heart soften and ache all at once. In that moment, I realized—even if it was too late now—that she held the power to crush me completely. And I could feel it already happening, the first cracks forming, my heart beginning to splinter.

Because I love her. So much. But more than anything, I wanted her to be happy. And if that happiness couldn't come from me, I would accept it. Even if it meant letting her go.

"Cole," she began, and my eyes fluttered shut, bracing myself for what was to come. "It's time for us to talk, isn't it?"

I couldn't find the words to reply. So, I simply nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the inevitable.

"I never thought we'd end up like this," she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "I thought we had forever. I always imagined us growing old together—our hair streaked with gray, the corners of our eyes and lips etched with lines from smiling too much. And I wanted to believe I was the reason behind every one of your smiles."

I pinched the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger, leaning forward, elbows resting on my knees. I fought to keep my emotions in check, to stop them from spilling over and dragging me to my knees, begging her to forgive me.

"I loved you, you know that, don't you?" she said, her gaze intense, piercing through me as though she could see every regret, every broken promise etched into my soul. "You were my first love, and I thought you were going to be my forever love."

My eyes burned, but I pushed the feeling aside, scrambling to find the right words. I knew I had to say something—anything—but before I could, her voice broke through the heavy stillness between us.

"At first, I didn't want to know. I was sure I couldn't handle it. But now... I think I'm strong enough to hear the truth, Cole." She paused, her hand gently touching my arm. I lifted my head and met her gaze, seeing the strength in her eyes, the quiet resolve to face whatever came next, even if it hurt. She was a warrior, and I couldn't help but be in awe of her.

"I want to know everything," she said, her voice firm with unshakable resolve. "Why you betrayed me. Why wasn'tI enough? Why did you stop loving me? Why her? Tell me everything."

I took a deep breath, steadying myself before I spoke. "Are you sure you want to hear everything, Sara?" I asked carefully, weighted with concern. Every word I said would hurt her, and the last thing I wanted was to cause her more pain. But I also knew she deserved the truth, no matter how much it might wound us both.

"Yes," she replied firmly, her voice laced with resolve. "For peace of my mind. I'm tired of questioning everything—of speculating, of hurting myself over and over in the process."

I nodded, swallowing hard, and took a moment to gather my thoughts, unsure of where to even begin.

"It wasn't because I stopped loving you," I began. My voice was weak. I felt overwhelmed by emotion, remorse, and the sheer difficulty of admitting the truth. "I never stopped. I loved you then, and I still love you now. And it wasn't because you weren't enough. You were everything. It was me. It was the thrill of it, the arrogance, the stupidity of thinking I could do this just because I could. It was my weakness, my inability to resist the temptation."

She listened quietly, her expression tinged with melancholy, and I pushed myself to continue, hoping I could convey the truth without deepening her pain. "It was the thought of... just one more, and then I'd stop. But it continued on. And then... it was too late. She told me she was pregnant."

A sharp breath escaped her, the sound laced with fury as her anger surged once more, her fists curling tightly at her sides. Without thinking, I reached for her right hand, enveloping her smaller one in mine. Her fingers felt icy, and I held on, hopingthe gesture could somehow convey what my words couldn't—remorse, regret, and the desperate wish to make things right.

"I didn't believe her at first. I was always careful... always using protection. So, I asked for a paternity test." My gaze dropped to her hand in mine, and I squeezed it gently, as if the pressure could somehow release the frustration and self-loathing bubbling inside me. "The results came back... and it said I was the father."

She kept her gaze on mine, a blend of hardness and vulnerability that made my chest ache. Everything I told her must shatter her. I knew that. I had broken her over and over again, and yet here she was, still looking at me with a strength I couldn't help but admire. In that moment, I felt so small, so unworthy of her. She deserved so much more than what I had given her.

"After that, I fell into an even deeper web of lies and deceit. I knew she had trapped me. I knew she had manipulated me, but all I could think about was the baby and how I could keep this from you. It consumed me, drove me to make choices I never should have. I knew I had options. I could've come clean to you. I could've walked away from her and not created a separate, hidden life alongside ours. But I didn't," I admitted truthfully. I won't ever lie to her again.

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