It's all coming back to me now

Chapter 1

I woke up because of the sunlight that hit my face. I looked around and saw breakfast prepared beside me with a note saying, "Take medicine after you eat, for sure you drank a lot. I love you so much, let's talk later. -your Ruby ♡"

I held my forehead as I remembered that she was the one who picked me up. For sure, she also heard everything I said last night. "Damnit! Sanae, what were you even doing for it to come to this." I scolded myself. I ate breakfast but didn't finish eating it.

I reached for my phone and called my secretary, informing her that I wouldn’t be coming to the office today because I wasn’t feeling well. My head was still throbbing from last night's events, and the weight of what I needed to do was pressing down on me. I couldn’t delay it any longer. I can't just sit here and act like nothing is on my head ,I owed it to her to be honest about where we were heading.

After hanging up, I sat there for a while, staring at the unfinished breakfast. My heart felt heavy, not just from the hangover but from the thought of what I had to do. I knew I had to pick her up from work later, and that would be the moment. I needed to be clear and firm, even if it would break both of us. I sighed deeply, running a hand through my hair, thinking about all the years we had shared. This wasn’t something that just happened overnight—it had been building up for a while. The love we once had wasn’t enough anymore, and the only way forward was to let go.

It was going to be one of the hardest conversations of my life, but it was necessary. I had to be honest with Ruby, and more importantly, with myself. It was time to face the reality of our situation, no matter how painful it might be. If we just didn't lose our baby, maybe we are still intact and connected.

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I texted Ruby, letting her know that I would pick her up . Earlier, I went to a coffee shop with my friend Ish. I needed someone to talk to, to get some clarity before making any decisions. I told her everything, including the fact that I was seriously considering divorce. Ish, as always, listened patiently. When I shared my thoughts, she didn’t try to convince me otherwise. “If you’re really sure about divorcing her, I won’t interfere,” she said, “But I think this might just be a phase. You and Ruby have gone through so much—maybe this is something you can face and conquer together.”

But it’s not just a phase. This isn’t something that will pass with time. How could it be when things have been like this for so long? Ever since the miscarriage, everything changed. I understand that the loss was devastating—it was for both of us. But Ruby shut down in a way I didn’t expect. And instead of us supporting each other, it felt like she pushed me away, locking herself in this emotional shell that I can’t reach.

If this was just a rough patch, why can she go an entire day without talking to me? No messages, no updates, no “hi” or “how are you?” It’s like living with a statue—someone who shares my space but isn’t really there. She doesn’t speak to me, and it’s been months since I’ve seen her express any real emotion. There’s a coldness in our home now, a silence that wasn’t there before, and I’ve been trying to pretend it’ll get better, but it hasn’t.

The miscarriage took something from both of us, but it feels like it took Ruby further away than I could ever imagine. I’ve tried to be patient, to give her space, but how long can I continue pretending like everything’s fine when the person I love is drifting away? We lost the baby, and it feels like we lost each other too.

Ish’s words keep echoing in my head. Maybe it is something we can work through if we both try. But what if we’ve already gone too far? Ruby’s silence, her distance, it feels like she’s already given up on us. I don’t know if she’s even willing to fight for our relationship anymore. Every day that passes, I feel more and more like I’m living with a stranger, and I don’t know how to bring us back to where we once were.

Deep down, I know it’s not just about the miscarriage, or the lack of communication. It’s everything. The distance between us has grown too wide, and I’m not sure if we can ever close that gap. Maybe it’s time to accept that we’re no longer the same people who promised to be there for each other through everything. We’ve lost too much, and I don’t know if there’s anything left to save.

I arrived at her office and waited in the lounge area. One of the staff even offered me a cup of coffee since she was in an important meeting. I patiently waited for about an hour and thirty minutes. Then I saw her—a stunning woman walking toward me with a smile. I stood up, and immediately, she wrapped me in a tight hug.

"Have you been waiting long?" she asked.

"Hmm, yes, but it's okay. It was an urgent meeting, so I understand why you couldn’t tell me."

"Sorry about that, Love. I’ll make it up to you," she said, smiling as she intertwined her hand with mine. It had been so long since I felt this warmth from her. Even going out together and eating at our favorite places—it had been ages since we last did this. I missed this. I missed her so much. But there was a part of me that was afraid this was temporary, that tomorrow we’d be back to the way things were—cold and distant, barely speaking to each other.

"So...where do you want to eat?" I asked hesitantly, unsure of how long this peaceful moment would last.

"Let’s eat at the place we used to go to," she said cheerfully. "And let’s order the food we always get there. I miss those times, and I miss you, my love."

"I miss you too, Ruby," I replied, my voice catching slightly. "Let’s go, so we don’t stay out too late."

"Okay, baby," she said softly. I took her bag and held it for her as we walked toward the parking lot where I had parked my car.

As we walked side by side, the familiar closeness started to return, like we were slipping back into an old rhythm. The tension that had hung between us for so long seemed to ease, and for a moment, it felt like we were us again. But the thought lingered at the back of my mind—how long would this last? Could this simple act of holding her hand, of having her close, fix everything that had been broken between us?

We got into the car, and I drove to the restaurant she mentioned, the one we used to frequent when things were simpler, happier. My heart felt heavy, filled with both hope and uncertainty. I wanted this to be real, to mean something. But what if it was just a fleeting moment, a brief return to the way things used to be before everything fell apart? What if tomorrow, the silence would return, and we’d be back to living like strangers in the same house?

As we arrived at the restaurant, she looked at me and smiled again, her eyes bright with a warmth I hadn’t seen in so long. For a second, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back to each other. But deep down, I knew that one dinner wouldn’t fix all the distance that had grown between us. There were conversations that needed to be had, wounds that needed to be healed, and a truth I still had to face.

Even as I held her hand and we walked into the restaurant, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the toughest part was still ahead of us.

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Ruby's POV

She seemed to be acting awkwardly, and I couldn’t help but try to figure out why. Every time I reached for her hand, she pulled away slightly, as if something was holding her back.

Who wouldn’t feel awkward? my conscience whispered. You are suddenly being sweet out of nowhere. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment.

“How are you, by the way? How’s work?” I asked, trying to break the silence. She looked up at me, her expression unreadable.

“It’s okay. Tiring, draining,” she replied curtly, not saying much. Then, unexpectedly, she put down her spoon and fork, her gaze shifting to mine.

“Ruby, I’m not going to beat around the bush anymore. I want us to divorce,” she said, her voice steady.

I froze, completely taken aback by her words.

“Baby, you’re joking, right?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. I was hoping, praying that this was just some cruel joke.

“This is not a joke,” she said, her voice firm and unwavering. “I want us to divorce.”

“B-but why?” I stammered, unable to process what I was hearing.

“I just got tired of this... of us being in this phase,” she began, her voice shaky now, but resolute. “I got tired of feeling like I’m being blamed for everything, for losing our baby. I lost a child too, Ruby. But it feels like I’m being punished, like everything is my fault.” She looked at me, her eyes filled with a pain I hadn’t seen before.

“I know I wasn’t perfect. I admit I didn’t give you the attention you deserved while you were pregnant. I know I wasn’t there for you the way I should have been. But why, in everything you do, does it feel like you’re blaming me for everything? Why does it feel like I’m carrying the weight of this guilt that I didn’t ask for?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“I gave you space. I understood when you needed time. But how long am I supposed to pay for something that wasn’t my fault? I never wanted us to lose our child, Ruby. That day, I lost not only our baby but also my wife.”

Her words hit me like a punch in the gut. I sat there, unable to respond, my mind racing. The truth in her words stung deeply. I had been carrying so much anger, so much grief, and somehow, in my pain, I had pushed her away. I had been punishing her without even realizing it.

The miscarriage had shattered us both, but instead of grieving together, we had grieved separately, building walls around ourselves. In my heartache, I had lost sight of the fact that she was suffering too. I had been so consumed by my own feelings of loss and hurt that I hadn’t seen how much she was hurting as well.

I opened my mouth to speak but found no words. What could I say? That I was sorry? That I didn’t mean to make her feel this way? The reality was, she had every right to feel the way she did. She wasn’t just my wife—she was a woman who had also lost a child, a mother who never got the chance to hold her baby. And somehow, I had forgotten that.

As the silence stretched between us, I could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the weight of all the unspoken pain we had been carrying for so long.

"I never wanted to punish you," I finally managed to say, my voice cracking. "I didn't know how to deal with the loss... I didn't realize I was pushing you away."

"I know, Ruby," she replied softly, her expression softening, but the resolve in her voice remained. "But it's too late. We've both been carrying this for so long, and it's breaking us. We’re not the same people anymore. I don't know if we can ever go back to how we were."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized how far we had fallen. We had lost not only our child but also ourselves, and now, I was on the verge of losing her too.

"We were supposed to heal together," I whispered, almost to myself. "But I failed you... I failed us."

She didn't say anything, and the silence between us felt heavier than ever. The love we once had, the connection that had once felt so strong, now seemed like a distant memory, slipping further and further away.

I’m too late. Too late to ask for forgiveness, too late to make up for the time we lost. I wish I had seen this coming, but I was blind to everything. Now, I’m completely shattered, feeling like a part of me is being ripped away. But deep down, I know that what she’s feeling is far worse.

As I sit here, my mind is flooded with memories—our wedding day, the laughter, the small moments we used to share that made everything feel so effortless. The mornings when I’d wake up to her smile, the nights when we’d stay up talking about our dreams. All those little things that I took for granted are now just painful reminders of what we’ve lost.

I don’t know what to do. I want to cry, to beg her not to leave, to promise I’ll change. But something in me is holding back. Maybe it’s the fear that no matter what I say, it won’t be enough. Maybe it’s the realization that it’s too late to fix the damage we’ve done to each other.

I’m trapped in this overwhelming silence, choking on the words I can’t seem to say. I want to tell her that I’m sorry for everything—for not being there, for letting the distance between us grow so wide. I want to ask her to stay, to give us another chance. But I know that she’s already made up her mind.

And the worst part is, I can’t blame her. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own pain, in my own grief, that I never saw how much she was suffering. I let her slip away, and now it feels like I’m losing her for good.

I want to fight for her, for us, but I don’t know if I have the strength anymore. There’s a part of me that feels like I’ve already lost. I can see it in her eyes—this isn’t a phase, this isn’t something that can be fixed with apologies. It’s deeper than that. It’s the kind of break that leaves scars, the kind that doesn’t heal overnight, if it ever heals at all.

I sit there, staring at the woman I still love, and all I can think about is how we ended up here. How did we go from being so in love, so full of hope, to this? How did we let ourselves fall apart?

Tears well up in my eyes, but I blink them back, trying to hold it together. I want to be strong, but inside, I’m falling apart. Every second that passes feels like another nail in the coffin of our marriage, and I don’t know how to stop it.

"I don’t know what to do," I whisper, more to myself than to her. I want to reach out, to touch her, to hold her the way I used to. But even that feels impossible now, like we’re miles apart even though we’re sitting right next to each other.

All I want is to go back to the way things were. To feel her love again, to know that we can get through this. But I’m too late. And that’s the hardest part to accept.