He’s trying. You know he is, but the trust has been broken and you cannot ever see yourself rekindling that flame. Five years with you, down the drain. And for what? A mistake? he regrets it terribly. If he could, he would go back in time and beat himself to a pulp. That’d be quite a match. And he’d do it all for you.

All the while, he has selfishly talked you into not divorcing, but your resentment was clear as day. How could he do this to the woman he married? The woman who’s bouncing their son on her knee? The only thing he could do is continue trying even if you turn him down every single time.

He made a mistake and he was going to make sure he wears himself out to death if it means keeping you close. He regrets it wholeheartedly and he will never stop proving himself to you. It’s an oath he gave himself as Bruce Wayne and the Dark knight.

He lives every day with the weight of what he did, and there are no words that can soften the cruelty of his betrayal. You had been healing—body and mind—after bringing their child into the world, and instead of standing beside you, he fell under a moment of weakness. He doesn’t offer excuses because there were none. What he did was cowardly, selfish, and unforgivable. He sees now the depth of your pain, and he carries the shame of it like a brand. If he could undo it, he would without hesitation—but all he can do now is own the hurt he had caused, and spend whatever time you allow him proving that he will never fail you like that again.

“Honey?” He calls out softly the moment he enters the manor, a bouquet in his hand. They were never new and he often got you flowers before he did what he did, but he knew you didn’t take his gifts kindly anymore. He was still trying, though, and he wasn’t going to stop, “I know you’re home, Angel,” he sighs, hating the silence and cold shoulder. He couldn’t blame you and he isn’t angry. He could never be angry at you.