♡You Don't Need To Be Sorry♡

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You sat at the edge of the bed, fiddling with your wedding ring as you waited for your husband, Michael, to return from the studio. A sigh escaped your lips as you glanced at your wrist watch. It was a quarter after midnight, and Michael had promised he'd be home before eleven. He was now over an hour late.

However, this behavior wasn't new. Since Michael's job at the studio was so demanding, he'd sometimes spend entire nights there - not even coming home. His job took its toll on your marriage, but the two of you had worked through it.

You fell back onto the bed, tired. You didn't know whether Michael would be home soon or not. As you laid on the bed, thoughts began to run through your mind - depressing thoughts. A groan escaped your lips as you sat up again, getting up from the bed. You walked over to the small radio that sat atop the small dressing table, turning it on.

And in other news, Michael Jackson has been spotted out with Madonna earlier this evening. Is he cheating on (Y/N)? What will his wife think of his recent behavior?

Your eyes widened.

So that's why he's late.

You didn't know what to believe. You wanted to believe that this was all some misunderstanding - but Michael's behavior all worked against you. Tears began to stream down your face as you turned the radio off before rushing to the bed - collapsing onto it.

And, you sobbed, and sobbed until you drifted off into an uneasy slumber.


About several hours later, you heard the front doors opening loudly - making your eyes open. You sat up and rubbed your eyes. A moment passed before you glanced at your wrist watch - noting that it was five in the morning. Your head snapped in the direction of the bedroom door when you heard it opening.

Michael walked in, shutting the door behind him before turning to face you. You got up from the bed, and stood there - arms folded.

"(Y/N), princess...I can explain," he held his hands up. You bit your lip as the tears flooded your, already swollen, eyes.

"Go ahead," you mumbled.

"Nothing happened between Madonna and I,"

"What did happen?" you studied your husband's features.

"We met for dinner, and then she had a little too much to drink," he sighed. "I couldn't leave her on her own,"

"But you could leave me on my own," you scoffed a little.

Michael stayed silent before shaking his head.

"I didn't trust her driver. He was looking at her with too much lust. He could have taken advantage of her,"

"And what about me?!" you snapped. "I'm your wife!"

"I know that! And I'm sorry, but I was trying to do the right thing!"

"So you thought it was okay to just leave me at home alone, without a call of any sort, or any indication that you were okay?!" you set your hands on your hips. "I can't believe this,"

"(Y/N)," Michael sighed as you walked forward, brushing past him. "(Y/N)!" he pulled your hand, but you yanked it back.

"You left me for some skank that you barely know and-"

"Don't talk like that!"

"I'll talk however I want," you sneered.

Michael shook his head as you walked out of the room - and out of Neverland. You needed a break, and you knew just the place that you were going to go.


After leaving Neverland, you had decided to go over to your good friend, Luisa's, house. At present moment, you were seated in her living room as she poured you a glass of water.

"But to be honest, I do think that you overreacted," Luisa sighed as she walked over and handed the glass to you. "Just a little,"

"I know," you took the glass from her and laughed a little. "But I just got so mad! I hate Madonna,"

"Ugh, trust me - I hate her too," Luisa rolled her eyes. "She's way too aggressive for my liking,"

"I just....ugh, I know I should apologize to Michael," you shook your head. "I should get back to Neverland now and-"

At that moment, you were cut off by someone knocking at the front door. Luisa frowned a little and stood up, walking over to the door and opening it. When she did, your eyes widened when you saw Michael standing there. Luisa smiled when she saw him.

"I'll leave you guys," she grabbed her purse and turned to you, wiggling her eyebrows. "Get him," she mouthed before walking past Michael, and out of the house.

You shoved your hands into the pockets of your jeans as Michael stepped in, shutting the door behind him. Once he had done so, he turned to face you - a solemn look on his face.

"I'm sorry," he shook his head. "I should never have left you on your own like that,"

"And I should have been more understanding," you sighed, walking up to him. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "I really am,"

"You don't need to be sorry," he pulled you in for a passionate kiss.

Michael's hands moved to sit on your waist as he pulled away to study your features.

"I love you so much, (Y/N)," he breathed. "And nothing can ever change that,"

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