The Spaces Between Us

The Words That Cannot Be Taken Back

The next morning, when Rhea woke up on the couch, her body was sore, her makeup smeared across her skin. Her head throbbed, but her heart hurt worse. She could not believe how last night had unraveled—from hope and laughter, to the crushing silence of Alex shutting her out again.

Her Alex. The man who used to fight storms just to see her smile. The man who once made her feel safe, adored, untouchable. That man had pushed her away and left her sobbing outside his door.

How much longer can I keep trying? Her therapist had told her to wait, to be patient. But patience was running dry. She didn't want to wait anymore. She wanted answers. She wanted him.

She pushed herself up, her muscles stiff, and marched to his room. She didn't knock softly; she banged on the door like her heart was demanding to be let in.

When he opened it, bleary-eyed and guarded, she barged inside and faced him.

"Alex, I cannot keep begging for love," she said, her voice shaking with both pain and defiance. "I cannot be in a relationship where you will keep pushing me away, even when I am asking for nothing." Her throat closed, but she pushed the words out anyway. "Last night I didn't need more—I just needed you to hold me. Just a hug. Just your hand in mine, to feel like I still have you."

Her voice cracked as the ache swelled. "You haven't even said you love me in five months." Tears slid down her face. "I cannot do this anymore, Alex. I cannot keep fighting for both of us if you won't even give me a sign that you still want us."

Her chest caved as she threw her arms around him, holding on like he was her lifeline. He stiffened, protesting, but she clung harder.

"I won't let you go, Alex," she whispered against him. Her voice broke, raw and pleading. "You're my first love. I see my whole life with you. I don't care if it takes years to get back to what we were—I'll wait. But I need to know you're trying too. Please. Just tell me you're trying."

Alex's throat burned. His body screamed to give in, to fold into her warmth and say the words he wanted to mean. But guilt was a noose tightening around him. His silence stretched, and finally he rasped, "I can't do this, Rhea."

The words gutted her. She pulled back, staring at him through red-rimmed eyes. "You keep telling me that. You said the same thing last night." She shook her head, clutching him tighter. "Why won't you fight for me? For us?"

Her arms locked around him, iron-strong despite her trembling. "I need to know you care, Alex. I need to feel it."

His chest heaved as he tried to break free, her hold burning against his skin like chains. She deserves the truth. She deserves someone who won't destroy her.

And then the ugliest words spilled out of him. "I can't! I don't know if we can be together. I touch you and I see that night. And maybe... maybe if you had been more careful—"

The sentence sliced the air in half.

Her eyes widened, disbelief hardening into horror. "What do you mean, if I had been more careful?"

Alex froze. His own voice rang in his ears like poison. He hadn't meant to say it. He hadn't meant to throw it at her. But his mind twisted, grasping for ways to drive her away before she could break him again.

And then he said it. The cruelest truth twisted into blame. "If you were more careful, we wouldn't have lost our little girl."

Rhea's knees nearly buckled. Her heart plummeted, as if the floor had given way beneath her. He was blaming her. For the loss that had nearly destroyed her. For the baby she still dreamed about at night.

Her voice was strangled, a scream swallowed by sobs. "Maybe it should have been better if I'd died then."

The words gutted Alex. His whole body recoiled, horror and grief slamming into him. He didn't want that. He had never wanted that. But guilt twisted his mind, poisoning even love. He wanted to push her away; to make her hate him so she wouldn't stay shackled to his ruin.

"I don't know, Rhea," he whispered, hollow, broken. "Maybe it would have been better."

The moment the words left his lips, he knew. He had gone too far. He had become the very monster he feared he was.

Rhea's tears streamed hot and unrelenting as she stared at him. Her voice shook with disbelief. "Are you serious, Alex? You think I should have died?"

He couldn't answer. His chest heaved, his face twisted with grief and self-loathing. He stood there, defeated, unable to take it back.

Minutes dragged. Rhea slumped onto the floor, sobbing until she was empty. Alex stood frozen, his body heavy with every word he wished he could undo.

When she finally rose, her face was streaked with ruined makeup and heartbreak. She looked at him like she didn't recognize him anymore. With trembling fingers, she slid her engagement ring from her hand and placed it on his bedside table.

Her voice was quiet, hollow. "I'm done begging for love."

And then she left. She didn't slam the door. She didn't scream. She simply walked out of the apartment, dragging her broken body into the daylight, and checked herself into a nearby Airbnb, booking it for a month.

Alex stood staring at the ring, the echo of her sobs ringing in his ears, realizing he had finally done it. He had broken the only thing left that still tethered him to life.