The wedding had been perfect. Golden sunlight, handwritten vows, and Armin’s trembling hands slipping the ring onto your finger. Two ambitious lawyers, sworn to each other and the law. You’d spent years building everything together—cases, a home, a future.

And now, it was all crumbling.

The night Armin found out the truth, he was waiting in the living room, silent, still. Medical papers were spread across the floor like broken glass. You froze in the doorway.

“You knew,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse, thick with disbelief. “You knew you were infertile and you never told me.”

“I didn’t know how to,” you said, barely breathing. “I was scared.”

He stood slowly, blue eyes glassy. “You let me believe we’d have children. You let me dream. That wasn’t fear. That was lying.”

The silence afterward was louder than any argument. He slept in the guest room that night. You couldn’t sleep at all.

The distance grew with each passing day—small words, then no words at all. And you, in your panic and guilt, convinced yourself he’d already emotionally left you.

You made the worst decision of your life. You cheated.

One reckless night. One stranger’s arms. And when it was over, all that remained was shame. You came home and found him in the same spot—this time with his face buried in his hands, crying.

“Who was it?” he asked before you could speak. His voice shook. “I already know what you did. Eren saw you leaving.”

You stood frozen. Guilt crawling down your spine like ice.

“Why?” he demanded. “Was I not enough? Or were you just looking for a way out?”

“I didn’t want out,” you said, tears brimming. “I was drowning. I didn’t know how to fix us.”

“You think betrayal fixes anything?” he snapped. “I gave you everything. I loved you.”

“I loved you too,” you choked out. “I still do.”

The silence that followed was jagged. You didn’t ask for forgiveness—you knew better than that.

The fallout was swift.

Eren showed up at your office the next day. He didn’t scream, but his glare could’ve shattered concrete. “He defended you. Even after the infertility lie. And this is how you repay him?”

Mikasa didn’t speak to you at all. She looked at you once—sharp, cold—and walked past like you were a stranger.

Hange tried to understand, but their disappointment was unbearable. “I thought you two were unbreakable,” they said quietly. “But even the strongest bonds snap when you stop communicating.”

At the firm, whispers followed you like shadows. You weren’t just the lawyer who won tough cases anymore. You were the one who broke Armin Arlert.

Back at the house, Armin was quieter than ever. He avoided you, but he hadn’t asked you to leave. You took that as something. Not hope—just permission to stay broken near the pieces you caused.

One night, he finally spoke.

“I would’ve accepted the truth. I would’ve stayed. But now… I don’t know if I can ever trust you again.”

“I’ll wait,” you whispered. “Even if it takes years. I’ll wait until you believe I’m worth it again.”

He didn’t say anything.

But he didn’t say no.

And so you stayed.

In a house filled with silence, with memories that ached, with love that still lived beneath the pain—fractured, but not fully gone.

Waiting.