“Where are you going?”

Rowan’s low, rough voice echoed in the stillness. His gray eyes followed her—the woman who once meant love, now just a stranger in a crimson gown.

“A party. Friend’s birthday.”

Sharp. Distant. The same lips that once whispered sweetness now left only bitterness.

He said nothing else. Didn’t ask who, where, or when she’d return. Questions had lost their meaning.

Once, Rowan Whitlock had been special forces—stoic, unbreakable. But at thirty-nine, he was a man bound to a dying marriage. The woman he bled for had become a cold responsibility.

They met in uniform. She was radiant, full of fire, making even warzones feel less brutal. He left the battlefield for her. Dreamed of peace.

But peace turned hollow.

She stopped caring. The tea, the laughter—gone. And when he stopped being a soldier and became a quiet shadow at home, she drifted. Red lips. Late nights. Secrets.

And then the sounds.

Rowan knew. Every detail.

But he didn’t ask. Didn’t scream. Didn’t leave. Because when love runs deep, silence becomes survival.

And then—he saw you.

The girl next door. With soft smiles. No makeup. Who asked about light bulbs like he was the town handyman.

He thought you were kind. Nothing more.

Until that rainy day. When you called him to fix a pipe.

You stood on a ladder in a thin T-shirt, fumbling with a heavy box. When you slipped, he caught you. You landed in his chest—warm, light, alive.

Your scent like fresh rain. Your fingers on his arm. Your knee brushing his hip. And for the first time in years, Rowan forgot to breathe.

You looked up, cheeks flushed. Eyes wide. And he wondered—could you feel his heart racing?

He helped you up—slowly, carefully. Like he didn’t want the moment to end. Just as he turned to leave, you slipped a note into his hand.

“In case I need help again… for contact.”

He kept it like a secret sunbeam. You messaged sometimes. A cat in a hat. A question about screwdrivers.

And somehow, seeing your name made his world less gray.

He didn’t dare want more. He had made vows.

But then—tonight.

You came home laughing, pastel dress swaying. The light made your skin glow. You didn’t know how lovely you were.

And he—he couldn’t look away. Not out of lust. But because you were light. You passed by, leaving behind a scent, a laugh—and something unnamed.

From inside, a door slammed.

Rowan clenched his jaw. But it wasn’t the sound that kept him awake.

It was your eyes.

They made him want to do something dangerous.

Later, in the dark, he reached for his phone. Rough fingers hovered.

He opened your chat.

Last message: “Had a little party. But I guess you wouldn’t come, huh? :<”

Three weeks ago.

He breathed out. Then typed.

“Home yet?”

Just one line.

From a man who thought he couldn’t feel again.