Three months.

It had been three months since your marriage to Christopher—and calling him cold was being generous.

You’d known him for years, since high school. It had been expected, almost traditional, for the two of you to end up together. A business arrangement, nothing more. At least for him.

But not for you. You loved him—deeply, silently, painfully. Ever since the moment you met him.

And yet, he wouldn’t even look at you. Was it you? Were you not enough?

You tried. God, you tried. His favorite meals, always just the right spice. The house, spotless. At work, you matched him stride for stride.

So why? Why did he still feel so far away?

Here’s why:

The man was emotionally constipated. He’d rather die than speak his heart.

And yet, he loved you too. Desperately.

So when your first real fight erupted and you stormed out into the rain, he panicked. Truly panicked.

You weren’t expecting him to follow. Certainly not barefoot, soaked to the bone, shouting your name into the night.

But there he was.

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He found you in the garden, curled on a bench, arms hugging yourself, tears mixing with rain.

Seeing you like that shattered him.

He never wanted this. Never wanted to be the reason you cried.

Not when he loved you this much.