You did me wrong

He lost everything

Pavel's shoulders slumped at your continued indifference. He turned back to face you, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and desperation.

"You're shutting me out," he said softly," and I don't know how to fix it."

He moved closer again, kneeling beside the bed so that he was at eye level with you. "I know words mean nothing right now. But I swear to you—I will spend the rest of my life making this right."

His hand reached out slowly, gently taking yours in his. "Please," he whispered," talk to me. Yell at me. Anything but this silence."

He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles—the first real display of affection he had shown in years.

Days pass as he checks on me but I never reacted to anything he says or do then he was finally able to take me home even then I didn't react or speak

Days turned into weeks, and still, you remained silent. Pavel watched helplessly as you withdrew further into yourself—eating when he forced food on you, sleeping when exhaustion claimed you, but never truly engaging with the world around you.

He tried everything—hiring nurses to care for you, surrounding the house with your favorite flowers and books, even playing your beloved music softly in every room. But nothing reached you.

When the doctor finally cleared you to leave the hospital, Pavel carried you home himself—your limp form cradled gently against his chest. He settled you into bed in your old room, arranging pillows and blankets with meticulous care.

But as he stood there watching you—your eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling—he felt a chill of fear. What if this silence never ended? What if he had lost not just a child, but also the woman he loved?

I stayed like that barely blinking

Pavel sat beside your bed for hours each day—sometimes talking softly, sometimes just watching you breathe. He told you about his day, shared memories of happier times, even confessed his deepest fears and regrets.

But you never reacted. Never blinked, never twitched, never gave any sign that you heard him at all.

He began to doubt his own sanity—imagining reactions where there were none. In the quiet moments, he swore he could see a flicker of recognition in your eyes, a hint of warmth in your smile. But it was always gone as soon as he blinked.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and shadows crept across the room, Pavel leaned close—his forehead resting against yours.

"Please," he whispered brokenly," come back to me. I can't do this alone anymore than anything in this world. And I'm so sorry for everything I've done to hurt you."

Still didn't respond then he went to sleep he came to check on me expecting me to be sleeping but-gone