Chapter 65 The First Time Marnie Cries from Overwhelming Love
1040 Words
Marnie did not expect it to happen like this.
She thought if she ever cried from love, it would be dramatic—during childbirth, perhaps, or when she first held her babies. She imagined tears would come with pain or fear, something loud and overwhelming.
Instead, it came quietly.
Almost gently.
It was late—past midnight—when the condo finally settled into stillness. The city lights outside the bedroom window glowed softly, filtered through sheer curtains. The rain had stopped hours ago, leaving behind a hush that felt sacred.
Michael was asleep beside her, his breathing slow and even. One arm curved protectively around her waist, his hand resting over her belly as it belonged there—which it did.
Marnie lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
She couldn’t sleep.
Not because she was uncomfortable.
But because her chest felt too full.
The twins had been calm tonight, lulled by her earlier singing and Michael’s quiet murmurs as he spoke to them like they could already understand. Now and then, she felt a faint flutter—gentle reminders that she was never truly alone anymore.
She shifted slightly, careful not to wake him.
That was when it happened.
Michael stirred in his sleep.
His arm tightened around her instinctively, pulling her closer until her back was pressed firmly against his chest. His face nestled into the curve of her neck, his breath warm against her skin.
And he whispered—half-asleep, unguarded—
“Stay… I’ve got you.”
Her breath caught.
He didn’t sound like Doctor Michael Co in that moment.
No authority.
No confidence.
No control.
Just a man holding onto the most important thing in his life.
Her.
Something cracked open inside her chest.
Tears welled before she even understood why.
She pressed a hand over her mouth, trying to stay silent, but one tear slipped free… then another… then another.
Her shoulders trembled.
Michael woke instantly.
“Marnie?” His voice sharpened with concern as he lifted his head. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Is it the babies?”
She shook her head quickly, still crying, unable to stop.
He pushed himself up, turning the bedside lamp on. The soft light revealed her tear-streaked face, her lips trembling, her eyes shining with something far deeper than fear.
Panic flashed across his features.
“Hey—hey,” he said urgently, sitting up and cupping her face. “Talk to me. Please. You’re scaring me.”
“I—I-I don’t know why I’m crying,” she sobbed softly. “I just—”
Her voice broke completely.
Michael pulled her into his arms without hesitation, pressing her head against his chest. His hand cradled the back of her head, steady and sure, the other rubbing slow circles along her back.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You don’t have to explain. I’m here.”
And that did it.
That simple sentence shattered the last of her restraint.
She cried harder—not from sadness, not from fear—but from the overwhelming weight of being loved so completely it frightened her.
“I’ve never had this,” she whispered through tears. “Someone who… stays. Who protects me without asking anything in return? Someone who loves me even when I don’t know how to give it back properly.”
Michael stilled.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark and intense—not angry, not confused—just full.
“Marnie,” he said quietly, firmly, “you give more than you realize.”
She shook her head weakly. “You do everything. You take care of me. You worry about me. You worry about the babies. And all I do is—cry and get scared and—”
He cut her off by pressing his forehead against hers.
“Listen to me.”
His voice softened, but the conviction remained.
“You carry our children inside you every second of every day. You give them warmth. Life. Comfort. You give me peace just by existing in the same space.”
Her tears slowed.
“I don’t need you to be strong all the time,” he continued. “I don’t need you to be fearless. I married you to protect you—not to measure what you give back.”
She stared at him, stunned.
“Michael…”
His thumb brushed away a tear lingering on her cheek.
“I love you,” he said quietly. “Not for what you do. But for who you are.”
Her chest ached.
She leaned forward suddenly, pressing her face into his neck, crying again—but this time softly, almost reverently.
“I’m scared,” she admitted. “Of losing this. Of waking up one day and realizing it was too good to be real.”
He wrapped both arms around her, holding her like something precious.
“Then let me say this clearly,” he said against her hair. “This is real. And I am not going anywhere.”
She inhaled shakily, surrounded by his warmth, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear.
For the first time, she believed it completely.
They stayed like that for a long time—no rush, no urgency—just shared breathing and quiet tears soaking into fabric and skin.
Eventually, her crying subsided.
Michael guided her gently back onto the bed, lying beside her and pulling the blanket around them. His hand returned to her belly instinctively.
The twins stirred faintly, as if sensing the emotional shift.
He smiled softly. “Even they know when you’re overwhelmed.”
She laughed weakly. “They probably think I’m dramatic.”
“No,” he said. “They’ll think you’re human.”
She turned toward him, her eyes still glossy. “Thank you… for loving me like this.”
He kissed her forehead slowly, deliberately. “Thank you for letting me.”
As sleep finally claimed her, Marnie realized something profound.
Love wasn’t always loud or intense or passionate.
Sometimes, it was a whispered promise in the dark.
A steady heartbeat beneath tears.
And the quiet certainty that, for the first time in her life, she was exactly where she belonged.
- Writer
