Divorced but still yours

Silence

Chapter Two

Danny’s POV

I fiddled with the button of the long-sleeve top I had chosen to wear. My nerves were still wrecked from the confrontation that had taken place at the dining table. I had already made up my mind not to explain myself even before Melissa opened her mouth. If this was going to work, then it had to work without long conversations — otherwise everything I had worked so hard to keep buried would be dragged to the surface.

And if I so much as looked at Melissa — really looked at her — I would lose it. Every bit of control I was holding onto.

Silence had always worked better for me. As a boy, it kept questions away. As a man, it kept damage contained. Words had a way of slipping, of exposing things I couldn’t afford to name. Once spoken, they became real — and being real wasn’t something I wanted right now.

The door cracked open and she walked in, her scent filling the room and assaulting my senses. Damn it. I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but I hadn’t expected her to fight this hard.

“You only come in here when you need to change these days,” she said. “This is supposed to be our room, Danny. Our matrimonial bed. And yet I sleep in it alone.”

She stood by the door, blocking my way, her eyes roaming over my half-naked body before lifting to my face.

“If you’re going to leave again, at least look me in the face and say it. Stop being a coward and avoiding me.”

She took a step closer.

I said nothing. Silence was my safety net — the only weapon I had against her.

“Remember our honeymoon, Danny?” she said, stepping closer again, closing the distance. I held my breath, refusing to inhale her scent, but she was persistent. She took over the buttons, unclipping them expertly. Her polished nails sent flirting signals. Those were the same nails that trailed imaginary lines along my chest whenever we lay on the bed. I gritted my teeth as her fingers brushed my bare skin. The thought of those nails roaming my bare skin sent a shiver down my spine.

“Remember how we spent every moment in each other’s arms? Never wanting to be apart? You said I was the best thing that ever happened in your life. What changed?”

She curved both hands around my neck, leaning into me, caging me in with that scent — the one that threatened to shatter the control I was barely holding onto. Her body pressed softly against mine, heat surging through me before my mind could catch up. Her calm demeanor was the straw that threatened to break me. My body betrayed me, filling me with a rage I couldn’t direct anywhere.

She had done nothing wrong. That was the worst part.

Wanting her was instinct. I wanted to bend down, kiss the top of her hair, taste lavender on my tongue. But I didn’t. Wanting was useless now — not after I had already made the choice to leave.

I knew I had to get out of the room, put distance between myself and the feminine weapons she was deploying. And yet something about her touch, her voice, rooted me in place.

I searched for distractions. The television was muted — useless. The ticking clock did nothing. My gaze landed on our wedding frame on the wall.

That did it.

I noticed my beard — thick, neatly groomed. My haircut still sharp. I was fine. I was okay.

But Melissa… Mel was stunning. She still was. Her eyes glowed softly, the result of weeks — maybe months — of skincare routines she had begged us to do together before the wedding. She had wanted us to glow side by side.

We’d handed over the stressful parts of planning to the event planner so she could rest. Our honeymoon had been in the Maldives — her choice. Leaving her side after those wild three months had felt impossible.

Now, staying felt like suffocation.

I could spend hours watching her curl up on the bed, sleeping with the peace of a woman who believed she was loved. Those had been the best moments of our lives.

But none of that mattered now.

It was over. And she had to accept it.

“Danny,” she said softly. “Let’s fix this.”

Her words lodged somewhere in my chest, heavy and unwelcome.

“We can’t.”

I looked at her briefly — a dangerous move — but I held the hard stare. I saw the disappointment flicker across her face.

I pretended not to care.

I pulled her hands away, nudged her aside, and straightened my sleeve.

“You can’t just leave, Danny,” she said, blocking the door again.

“Yes, I can, Mel. And you’ll sign those documents by tomorrow.”

I brushed past her, inhaling the first breath of air not tainted by lavender as I descended the staircase.

Tomorrow wasn’t a deadline.

It was a shield.

Once the papers were signed, there would be no more rooms heavy with scent, no more memories clawing at my throat, no more taunting presence.

Paper was easier.

She had served dinner, as usual. I spared it one bitter glance before storming out, refusing to let that quiet act of kindness weaken my resolve.

This was becoming complicated.

Outside, I finally let myself breathe, releasing the tension that came with being near her. I sat in the car for a few minutes, listening to the silence that swallowed the house.

I waited for shouting. For sobs. For something breaking.

There was nothing.

The quiet unsettled me more than screaming ever could. Silence meant she was breaking quietly — and I had always feared quiet breaks the most.

I told myself this was for the best. Repeated it like a prayer, as though repetition could soften the cruelty.

But as I drove away, the image of her standing in the doorway refused to fade.

For the first time since this began, I didn’t wonder if I was strong enough to

leave.

I wondered if I was strong enough to live with it.