He turned the knob.
It was unlocked.
He pushed it open and stormed inside.
Daniel emerged from the hallway, surprised, shirtless, his towel still slung low around his waist—fresh out of the shower. "Theo?"
Theo didn't speak.
He punched.
Once. The force of it landed square on Daniel's cheekbone. He stumbled back into the wall, blood already trickling down his lip.
"For ruining my family!" Theo bellowed.
He grabbed Daniel by the neck of his towel and yanked him forward, slamming him against the wall again.
Another punch. "For sleeping with my wife!"
He pounced on him, fists wild, fueled by betrayal, humiliation, love turned to fury.
Daniel tried to raise his hands, "Theo, stop!"
"You don't talk," Theo roared, lifting him off the floor. "You don't get to say anything."
Daniel, struggling to catch his breath, managed to choke out, "You pushed her to me... You weren't there. You changed."
Theo froze, breathing heavily, his knuckles bleeding now.
Silence.
The weight of that truth sank in—but it didn't heal anything. It made everything worse.
He released his grip, letting Daniel collapse to the floor.
Theo stood over him, eyes dark, chest heaving.
"I will be back," he said coldly, his voice like broken glass. "And next time, I won't leave so easily."
Then he turned and walked out, slamming the door so hard it echoed like thunder.
The apartment was quiet, too quiet. Only the distant hum of the refrigerator and the faint ticking of the wall clock reminded Theo that the world hadn't stopped—even though, for him, it had.
He sat on the couch, shirt soaked in sweat and blood from the fight. His fists still trembled. His face, smeared with tears, was blank. Emotionless. Shattered.
Then came the flood.
He bent forward, cradling his head in his hands, and wept.
Not the kind of weeping that begged for comfort.
This was different.
Raw.
Heavy.
Silent sobs shook his shoulders like aftershocks from a personal earthquake. His eyes stared at the floor, blurry from grief. And through those tears, the memories came rushing back—uninvited and merciless.
He remembered the bookstore where he first met Lena.
She had smiled over a stack of poetry, her laughter light, like music. She had been sunshine in a world where he'd only known storm. She had waited for him, through deployment, long nights, silence. And when he returned, she hadn't even flinched at the scars he carried.
She gave him everything.
And he broke it.
"I was the one who changed…" he whispered hoarsely.
His voice cracked. "I cheated first."
He dropped his head again, shaking as regret clawed its way up his throat.
"I thought she forgave me... I thought we could be okay."
But were they ever?
Or had Lena been silently bleeding all along?
The thought of her with Daniel sliced through him again. But now, behind the rage, there was a deeper ache. Guilt. The bitter truth that maybe—just maybe—he drove her there.
He rose from the couch and walked to the window, staring out at the city lights. They blurred as fresh tears rimmed his eyes.
"And the baby…" he muttered, resting his head against the glass. "Was it even mine?"
He hated himself for asking. But the doubt was louder than logic now. Louder than love.
He slid down to the floor, back against the wall, and let the silence envelop him. His body trembled from exhaustion. Pain. Grief.
He didn't know when he finally fell asleep—only that it was shallow and dreamless.
His phone buzzed on the coffee table, vibrating loud in the quiet.
Theo jerked awake, eyes swollen, breath caught in his throat.
Caller ID: Mr. Jenkins
He answered with a dry, cracked voice, "Hello?"
"She's awake," the older man said softly.
Theo's heart skipped.
"She... she asked for you."
Theo closed his eyes, a shaky breath escaping his lips. "I'm coming," he said, voice low and broken.
He stood slowly, rubbing his face with trembling hands. The mirror in the hallway caught his reflection—beaten, bloodshot, broken.
He ignored it.
Theo stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over his aching body. The sting from his bruised knuckles didn't compare to the ache in his chest. As the water washed away the grime and dried blood, he pressed his palm to the tile wall, breathing slowly, grounding himself.
Just act like all is well, he told himself.
That's what he needed to do now.
After drying off, he dressed in clean jeans and a soft grey sweater Lena had once bought for him on a quiet afternoon when things were still sweet between them. He looked at himself in the mirror. The man staring back had aged overnight. Pain had a way of doing that.
Still, he pulled on his coat and left.
The first stop was the corner diner. He picked up Lena's favorite meal—chicken soup with a side of warm, crusty bread. She always liked the way they added just a hint of garlic to the broth. He added some fresh-squeezed juice and a small slice of apple pie. Then, across the street, he entered a local fruit market and carefully picked strawberries, blueberries, and crisp green apples. Fruits she loved.
At the last minute, he took a detour.
The flower shop.
A soft chime jingled above the door as he entered. The florist smiled, but Theo barely managed a nod. His eyes scanned the sea of color until he saw them—soft pink roses.
Fresh. Tender. Just like her.
He paid quietly and left, his arms full, his heart heavier than ever.
As he approached the hospital, each step felt louder than the last. His sneakers echoed down the white corridor. Room 212. He'd memorized it the moment Mr. Jenkins had spoken the words.
Outside the door, he paused.
He adjusted the bouquet. Smoothed down his shirt. His heart was hammering now. He felt like a teenager going to meet someone he'd hurt—but still hoped to win back.
Then he knocked gently.
The door creaked open.
And there she was.
Lena.
Propped up against the pillows, her face pale, but her eyes—oh, those eyes—alive. Alert. Tired, but no longer lost.
Her gaze met his.
Time froze.
"Theo," she whispered, voice hoarse.
He stepped inside quietly. "I thought you might be hungry," he said, holding up the bag. "And... I brought your favorites."
She stared at the food. Then the roses. Her lips quivered slightly.
"You didn't have to..." she started.
He set everything down on the small table and walked over to her bedside.
"Yes, I did," he said quietly. "You've been through hell, Lena. I know that now."
There was a silence so loud it could break glass.
"I shouldn't have pressured you," he continued. "Not about the baby. Not about pretending everything was fine when it wasn't. I failed you, Lena. Before you ever failed me."
Her eyes shimmered.
"Please eat something," he said, voice soft. "I just... I needed to see you okay."
She reached slowly for the rose and held it to her chest.
"I'm sorry," she said suddenly. Her voice cracked, soft but raw with guilt. "You're a good man, Theo. And I—" She swallowed. "I'm sorry. I allowed pleasure to get the best of me. I let loneliness and pain justify what I knew was wrong. I was selfish. I was reckless. And I hurt the one person who stayed... who tried."
Theo's throat tightened. He looked at her, not as the woman who betrayed him, but as the woman he once waited months to return to. The woman who once looked at him like he was everything. The woman who, at some point, he himself had failed too.
But then she added quietly, her eyes filled with tears—
"I have a confession to make…"
Theo's entire body froze.
"It wasn't your child," she said. "Daniel was responsible."
There it was.
The truth he'd avoided. The truth that gnawed at the edges of his mind.
Theo stood, pacing the length of the hospital room, running his hand through his hair, shaking his head.
He laughed once—a bitter, broken sound. "And yet I bought you flowers," he whispered.
Lena sobbed. "I'm sorry, I swear, I never meant for it to go this far. I was going to end it. I was trying to fix it before it collapsed completely, but—" She buried her face in her hands. "I broke everything. I broke us."
A knock came at the door, soft but firm.
It opened slowly, and Mr. Jenkins stepped in.
He looked from his daughter to his son-in-law, and though his eyes were tired, they were steady.
He walked over to Theo, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"She's deeply sorry, son," he said quietly. "I know you're hurting. I won't pretend that forgiveness is easy or that forgetting is even possible. But I see the way you look at her. I've watched you. You came here with food, with roses. Even when you were breaking inside, you brought love in with you."
Theo didn't respond. His jaw clenched, his breath short.
"Don't pretend all is well," Mr. Jenkins added. "It's not. But if you walk away now, make sure it's not just because you're angry. Make sure it's because you're certain there's nothing left."
Theo turned back to Lena. She was trembling, the words stuck in her throat.
"I don't deserve this," she whispered. "Your kindness. Your silence. Your presence."
Theo stepped closer.
"Maybe not," he said softly. "But neither did you deserve the man I was before. I started the cracks… you just didn't know how to hold the pieces."
She cried harder then—painful, wracking sobs that made Mr. Jenkins quietly step out and close the door.
"This isn't safe for you," she said through the tears. "To stay. To love me still."
Theo sat again beside her.
"I don't feel safe either," he said. "But I feel… here. I feel this. I feel the weight of everything we used to be. I feel the ghost of what we can be—if we fight like hell to get it back."
He reached for her hand.
"I forgive you."
Her breath hitched.
"I forgive you," he said again. "Not because it's easy. Not because I'm ready. But because I know hate will kill me faster than heartbreak."
Lena collapsed into his arms, trembling.
They held each other in silence, both broken, both stripped of pride.