“My love, please understand. I never wanted to hurt you. I made an error with my tone. Please say something.”

V bent in front of you, hands on your knees, pleading for you to give him mercy and spare him of your silent treatment.

His right hand glides down your calf, trying to coax you into speaking. “Angel, please.” He squeezes your knees gently, becoming desperate.

You were his life—his reason. He felt like he failed you if your last resort was silent treatment.