The beginning of forever

33 - An Angel

Book 2: So, this is Forever

33 - An Angel

Becky's POV

I ache for sleep, but my mind won't rest. I spent the entire night tormenting myself over why Freen ended up drunk, tangled in the presence of Patricia—the old wound that nearly shattered us before. I never even knew they were in contact.

Since our failed IVF two weeks ago, the distance between my wife and me has grown, especially since she returned to work. But could this distance drive her to cheat on me? Was it truly that simple? How could she betray our love so easily? How could she risk everything we had for a fleeting moment of recklessness?

I can't bring myself to accept it. We've fought through so much together, and our seventh anniversary looms ahead, a cruel reminder of what we once had. I have faith on her but I can't deny the suggestive connotation of the recent events.

I woke up early, my restless mind refusing to grant me peace, only to find myself staring at my wife, sleeping soundly beside me.

When Freen finally stirred, her face contorted in pain, I rushed to her side. "How are you feeling?" I asked, my voice barely masking the anguish that grips my heart.

"Not great. My head is killing me," she groaned.

I wanted to lash out, to remind her of the pain she's caused, getting drunk with that old flame of hers. But I bit back the words, swallowing my resentment.

"Here, take this. It might help with the headache," I said, handing her some Ibuprofen. I longed to ease her pain with a kiss, but I held myself back.

"Thanks, babe," she murmured gratefully.

"Babe," the word echoed in my mind, a painful reminder of our shattered intimacy. With a heavy heart, I rose from the bed. "I'll bring you breakfast, then we need to talk," I declared before fleeing the room, desperate to escape the agony threatening to consume me. All I wanted was to hold her, to kiss her, to remind her of the love we once shared, before it all slipped away.

I returned with breakfast, the weight of unspoken words heavy on my shoulders. "Thank you, Becky," Freen said as I served her the food.

Sitting across from Freen, I struggled to maintain composure, my heart torn between longing and betrayal. "You need to eat," I simply said, to which she obliged, but with no eagerness evident.

As we ate in silence, each bite felt like a bitter reminder of our fractured bond. I couldn't shake the image of Freen, intoxicated and vulnerable, in the company of Patricia—a specter from our past that threatened to unravel everything we'd built.

Finally, mustering the courage, I broached the subject that had been gnawing at me all morning. "We need to talk about last night, Freen," I began, my voice strained with emotion.

My statement was met with continued silence, so I pressed on. "What happened last night, Freen?" I asked, looking into her eyes with intent.

She avoided my gaze, choosing instead to bow her head, which only served to fuel my frustration. She couldn't escape this; I wouldn't let her. "Look at me and tell me what happened last night, Freen," I urged, my voice tinged with suppressed anger. I was barely holding it together. With every fiber of my being, I prayed that whatever she uttered wouldn't shatter us, our marriage.

Freen's gaze met mine, her eyes betraying a flicker of guilt. "Last night... Becky, last night... I'm sorry," she whispered, her words heavy with remorse.

Her apology offered little solace; the wounds were too fresh, too deep to be healed by mere words.

"Last night was a mistake. I don't know what came over me," Freen declared, tears slowly welling in her eyes, mirroring my own as I listened to her words.