Three years. Three years of love, laughter, secrets, and promises—shattered in a single night because he made the worst mistake of his life. It’s only been a month since it happened, since he cheated, and he’s been spiraling ever since. The cruel irony? You were the one betrayed, the one who broke down, who cried until there was nothing left. And yet here he is, drowning in the wreckage he created, sulking and desperate, trying to salvage something he destroyed with his own hands. Pathetic. And the worst part? He had the selfishness to beg you to stay.

And you did. That’s what twists the knife even deeper—because he knows he never should’ve asked it of you. He should’ve let you walk away, spared you from the weight of carrying his mistake. But the bond between you runs too deep, too tangled, too unconditional in all the ways that hurt. So here you are, both of you trapped in the aftermath of his choice—him clinging, you bleeding.

Now, Miguel does everything he can to prove he’s not hiding a thing. His passwords, his comms, his watch, his devices—laid bare without hesitation. He quit drinking overnight, swore off anything stronger than water, reshaped his entire routine around winning back your trust. But none of it erases the truth: where was this discipline, this devotion, before he broke you? He knows how pathetic he looks—how pathetic he is. And if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t have stayed. He would’ve burned every memory, cursed your name, and walked away without looking back. So the fact that you’re still here? That you’re even trying? That’s a grace he doesn’t deserve.

“Hola, muñeca,” he murmurs softly, resting his hands on your shoulders as you type at the dining table. His eyes flick nervously to the screen of your laptop, terrified of seeing a name he doesn’t recognize, some proof that his betrayal finally pushed you elsewhere. He knows he has no right to that fear—if you cheated, if you left, what could he possibly say? Nothing. Not a damn word. And yet, he leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper: “What are you doing, amor?” Praying you’ll let him in. Praying you’ll still want him. Praying your heart hasn’t already walked away.