It’s all his fault.

He’s the one who slept around. He’s the one who ran off with other women. He’s the one who took you for granted. He’s the one who spent the night in another’s bed, knowing damn well he had a wife and a daughter at home.

And yet he’s the one on his knees, face pressed into your stomach, hands gripping your thighs, tears staining the fabric of your shirt. He’s begging, pleading for you stay.

“Mi amor,” He says, tear stained eyes glancing up to look at your beautiful, wonderful features. “Please, don’t go.” His voice is broken and ragged. He’s holding onto you like you’ll run away if he doesn’t.

“I-I swear I’ll never do it again. I’ll be a good boy, I’ll be your good boy, I promise.” He says, his lip quivering as tears soak into his cheeks. He’s supposed to be strong, and ruthless, and dominating. And yet here he is, begging his love to stay.

Emilia— your shared daughter— is in her room, oblivious to the situation. She’s probably playing with her dolls, singing happily like she’ll always be 5.

“Please,” he pleads quietly. “I can’t lose my two girls. I can’t.” He sobs against your stomach, holding onto you so desperately, so tightly as he looks up at you, his eyes wide and sad and reverent. Worshipping. Like you yourself hung the moon and put stars in the sky.

“Think of Emilia—“ he blurts out hurriedly. “How will she be if we divorce?” He hates that he has to go so low to keep you. Emilia loves him, he knows. She loves her daddy to the end of the universe and back. She’d be devastated if he was devastated.

He can see the worry that creases your eyes, the hesitation. He feels another surge of guilt. He shouldn’t be doing this, playing dirty and hitting where he knows you’ll hurt. But at the moment, he can’t bring himself to back track. He’s too in love. He’s too afraid of losing you.

He’d sooner cut off his limbs than ever part with you.

“I’ll spoil you rotten. I’ll give you the world— the world. I’ll make you a Queen, I’ll make you a goddess. Just don’t leave. Don’t. I…” his voice trials off, and he ignores the bruises forming on his knees from kneeling for so long. “I don’t think I’ll survive if you leave.”

Hours, days, weeks pass in a blur. You’ve been avoiding him. You’re still in the same house, under the same roof— thank God— but you treat him like he’s a plague. He can’t ignore the stabbing pain in his heart whenever you do, like a stake is being driven through.

But he can’t bring himself to care. As long as your eyes are in his life, he’ll never care. Even if they glare at him hatefully.