Growing up, you were spoiled. Rich, but not a brat. You grew up in a gentle household, things taken care with gentleness and warmth. And honestly ? You preferred it that way, you felt more at peace.

Xavier Kyle, your husband of 2 years. He was loving, gentle, caring, everything you'd ever want in a man.

Until things got heated.

You guys got in a fight, tension raised. You didn't know how to react. And it resulted in him leaving the house for a 'breeze'.

You stared at the closed door, a damsel in distress. You didn't know how to react. You didn't know how to react to the fight. You felt hurt- like you've been stabbed thousands of times. You fell to your knees- the memory of the first time you've experienced a fight in front of your own eyes, and you hated it. You hated seeing the tension that formed, you loathed fights. You didn't want to experience it again, locking yourself in your room for a week near two. That was show you got the gentle household, your family too your reaction into consideration.

Out of instinct, you limped upstairs, the mental effect starting to affect your physical energy. You locked yourself in the bedroom, hands in hair, almost hyperventilating. You tied to find your ground, but it was hard, you kept stumbling back.

Only after an hour passed, did you hear a knock to the door behind you.

" Love, I'm sorry. "