DID I MAKE THE RIGHT DECISION
1269 Words
Chapter 3
Emily's POV
Before I know it, it’s morning, the night passes in a blur.
At some point I must have fallen asleep in his arms, because when I open my eyes the room is pale with early light and Adrian is still beside me, watching me like he’s afraid I might disappear.
For a second I forget everything, Then it all comes back.
The four days, the silence, the excuses.
He brushes his fingers gently over my hair. “I didn’t sleep,” he says softly. “I was thinking.”
I sit up slowly. My body still feels heavy, like yesterday’s tears are still sitting inside my chest.
You know how I get when I'm stressed, I just didn't want to drag you into it.
“I’m ready to do this right,” he says. “I’m ready to engage you.
I don’t want to lose you. I’ll never leave you. I’ll never hurt you again.”
The words hang between us, "Engage".
For a moment my heart skips the way it used to when we first started dating.
I used to dream about this, I used to imagine him saying those words with certainty and love, not desperation.
He looks so serious, So convincing, “I messed up,” he says again. “But I swear I’m done hurting you.”
He has sworn before, I searched his face, trying to see the truth behind his eyes.
I want to believe him, I want to believe that love can fix this.
That last night was the end of something bad and this morning is the beginning of something new.
I stare at him for a long time, I want to ask him why this promise feels like a bandage over a wound that hasn't stopped bleeding
But am tired
"Okay", I whisper.
The word feels heavy in my mouth.
He pulls me into a tight hug, relief pouring out of him.
“You won’t regret this,” he murmurs against my hair.
I wrap my arms around him, but my embrace isn’t as strong as his.
I can’t tell if I’m agreeing because this is what I truly want…
Maybe because I’m scared to let go of the man who once saved me when I couldn’t save myself.
Maybe I’m still that broken girl who feels indebted to him.
The ring feels heavier than it should, I keep turning it around my finger as I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, watching the early light settle over my face.
The diamond is small but bright, catching the morning in sharp flashes, It looks like certainty but I don’t feel certain.
Behind me, Adrian moves around the bedroom, already dressed for work.
He’s been attentive since last night, too attentive.
His hand finds my waist every few minutes, his voice softer, his eyes searching mine like he’s making sure I’m still here.
“Why are you staring at it like that?” he asks.
I lower my hand. “I’m not.”
He steps closer, wrapping his arms around me from behind, His chin rests on my shoulder.
In the mirror, we look like a couple in a jewelry advertisement. Calm. In love. Unbreakable.
“You’re going to get used to it,” he murmurs. “To being my fiancée.”
My fiancée, The word presses against my chest. I nod because that’s easier than speaking.
His hold tightens just slightly. “You’re happy, right?”
There’s a pause too long to ignore.
“Yes,” I say.
He studies my reflection a second longer before kissing my temple. “Good.”
At work, the ring becomes public property.
The first time someone notices, it spreads fast.
Congratulations follow me down the hallway. Smiles. Hugs. Curious questions. I answer them automatically, lifting my hand when asked, letting them look.
Adrian stays close all morning, a hand at my lower back, Fingers brushing my hip when he passes.
He doesn’t usually do that here, It feels less like affection and more like marking territory.
“Smile,” he whispers once when he catches me zoning out near the copier.
Thompson.
He’s standing near the glass-walled conference room, reviewing a file.
His posture is steady as always, sleeves rolled neatly, expression composed.
But his eyes are on me, No — on my hand.
The ring.
For a brief second, something flickers across his face, It’s small.
Almost invisible. Then it’s gone, replaced by the calm professionalism he wears like armor.
He walks over, “Congratulations,” he says evenly.
Up close, his voice is controlled, but there’s a tightness underneath it, Something restrained.
“Thank you,” I reply.
Adrian steps in before anything else can settle. “Told you I’d lock her down,” he says lightly, sliding an arm around my waist.
The phrase makes my stomach twist.
Thompson’s gaze shifts to his son.
“Marriage isn’t a lock,” he says calmly. “It’s a responsibility.”
The air changes.
Adrian’s smile doesn’t falter, but it sharpens. “Don’t worry. I can handle my responsibilities.”
Their eye contact lasts half a second too long, I feel caught between them, like a line pulled tight.
Thompson looks back at me. “Are you sure this is what you want, Emily?”
The question lands gently. Too gently.
Adrian’s arm stiffens around me.
“Yes,” I answered quickly.
Too quickly.
Thompson nods once. “That’s what matters.”
But when he walks away, I feel like he doesn’t believe me.
And I don’t know if I believe myself either.
The rest of the day drags.
Adrian is unusually attentive. He brings me coffee without asking, Check in on me twice before lunch.
Sits closer than usual during meetings.
Every time Thompson enters a room, Adrian’s hand finds me again.
By late afternoon, I felt watched from both sides.
When the office finally empties, I stay behind to finish a report. I need quiet. Space to think.
I don’t hear him approach at first.
“You don’t have to stay late.”
I look up.
Thompson stands in the doorway of my office, a jacket slung over his arm.
“I’m almost done,” I say.
He steps inside but keeps a careful distance. “You looked overwhelmed today.”
“I’m fine.”
A small silence settles between us.
He studies me carefully, like he’s reading something between the lines I’m not brave enough to speak aloud.
“You don’t owe anyone your life,” he says after a moment.
The sentence hits deeper than it should.
“I don’t feel like I owe him,” I say quickly.
He doesn’t argue, But he doesn’t look convinced either.
A long pause stretches between us, Not awkward.
Not exactly comfortable either. Just charged.
I suddenly become aware of how quiet the building is, How close he’s standing.
How steady his presence feels compared to the constant emotional swing I’ve grown used to.
“I don’t want you to settle for something because you’re grateful,” he says softly.
“I’m not,” I insist.
His jaw tightens slightly, like he’s holding back more.
For a second, his hand lifts — almost unconsciously — as if he’s going to reach for mine.
He stops himself, the restraint is louder than any touch.
“This isn’t my place,” he says finally, stepping back.
“You’re an adult. You’ll choose what’s best for you.”
“Goodnight, Emily.”
“Goodnight.”
He leaves first.
I stay seated long after the door closes, staring at my hand.
- Writer
