Chapter Ten : When Loving Him Started To Hurt
1000 Words
I knew loving Stefan wasn’t supposed to feel like this—
like swallowing fire and pretending it was warmth,
like holding something beautiful that kept cutting me in the same place.
But that morning… I finally felt the pain beneath the softness.
The day began quietly, too quietly, the kind of silence that presses against your skin like a warning. I woke before sunrise, my chest already tight, my thoughts running ahead of me like they were trying to escape something I wasn’t ready to face.
Stefan hadn’t come home last night.
He didn’t call.
He didn’t text.
He didn’t leave a message.
And maybe that was the moment I first tasted the kind of hurt that grows from loving someone too deeply.
I sat at the edge of the bed for a long time, my fingers trembling lightly as they traced the blanket. I told myself he was fine… that he would walk in with one of his careless smiles… that he would say my name the way that always made me melt.
But the sun kept rising, and the door stayed closed.
When I finally stood up, my legs felt weak—not from fear, but from the weight of pretending I wasn’t worried. I made tea, but the warmth did nothing. I tried to distract myself, but every sound made my heart jump.
By the time the clock approached 8 a.m., my hope began to curl into something sharp.
Then I heard footsteps.
Not rushed.
Not apologetic.
Just… normal.
The door opened, and Stefan stepped in as if he had only gone downstairs for a moment. He smelled faintly of a cologne I didn’t recognize. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, his hair messy in a way I couldn’t explain.
Our eyes met.
His smile was small at first—soft, familiar—then it faded when he realized I wasn’t smiling back.
“Hey,” he said gently, dropping his keys. “You’re awake early.”
I swallowed hard. “You didn’t come home.”
He blinked, as if the explanation should be obvious. “I got busy.”
“Busy?” The word tasted bitter. “All night, Stefan?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding my eyes. “I was with the guys. We talked. We drank. I crashed there.”
Simple.
Casual.
Cold.
Something inside me twisted painfully.
“You couldn’t even text me?” I whispered.
His expression hardened. “Anita, you’re overreacting. I’m here now, aren’t I?”
There it was again—
the thing he did that made me feel like I was asking for too much…
when all I ever wanted was honesty and presence.
I looked away before the disappointment in my eyes could spill over.
He stepped closer, his voice softer, almost coaxing. “Babe, don’t do this. You know how I get when I’m stressed.”
But this time his soft tone didn’t soothe me—it hurt.
Because suddenly… I realized how easily he used it to pull me back every time.
His fingers brushed my arm, warm and familiar. “Come on. Don’t be mad.”
The touch made my heart ache in a way I couldn’t ignore anymore.
“Stefan…” I whispered, gently pulling away. “Why does loving you feel like I’m losing pieces of myself?”
He froze, his smile faltering. “What are you talking about?”
“I always forgive,” I said, voice trembling. “Always. Even when I’m hurting, even when I stay awake waiting, even when you don’t care how it makes me feel.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t care,” he muttered.
“But you didn’t show it,” I replied softly.
For the first time in a long while, he didn’t have an excuse ready. He looked at me really looked and something uncertain flickered in his eyes.
Not guilt.
Not understanding.
Just surprise.
As if he never imagined I could break.
He reached for me again, slower this time. “Anita… come here.”
My heart warred inside my chest. For a moment, I almost moved toward him. His presence still had the power to soften me, to melt me, to weaken every boundary I tried to build.
But the hurt was louder today.
“I need space,” I said quietly.
His jaw tightened. “Space? From me?”
I nodded, even as my heart cracked a little. “Just… let me breathe.”
He stared for a moment, shocked. Then he scoffed lightly, stepping back. “You’re being dramatic.”
That word cut deeper than any silence he had ever given me. yeah
“I’m not being dramatic,"I whispered. oh “I’m being honest."
He blinked, and something dark flickered behind his expression, something defensive—almost wounded. But instead of apologizing, instead of trying to understand, he grabbed his phone and walked into the living room.
As if distance meant nothing.
As if my pain was just another moment he could ignore.
I stood alone in the bedroom, the morning sun crawling slowly across the floor, warm and bright but unable to reach the cold place forming inside me.
And for the first time since loving him…
I felt afraid.
Afraid that maybe I loved him more than he ever loved me.
Afraid that maybe my weakness was keeping me somewhere my heart no longer felt safe.
Afraid that hurting was becoming normal.
I leaned against the wall, breathing slowly, trying to steady myself.
Because even though Stefan was the one who walked away…
I was the one who felt abandoned.
My fingers curled against my chest as I stood there, feeling the echo of every unspoken worry tightening inside me. I didn’t want to give up on him… but I also didn’t want to lose myself in the process. Loving Stefan used to feel like home. Now it felt like standing in a doorway, unsure which side still belonged to me.
“…yet I stayed."
- Writer
