Chapter Eleven - The Messages
1583 Words
The first thing Amara noticed was the time.
11:47 p.m.
She looked at the clock again.
Then at her phone.
No new messages.
Damian had told her he would be home before ten.
He hadn't said where he was going.
Only that he had a business dinner.
Amara had tried not to worry.
She had spent most of the evening sitting on the sofa with a book open in her lap, although she hadn't read more than two pages.
The apartment was quiet.
Too quiet.
She looked down at her stomach.
Her hand rested there instinctively.
"Your father is late," she whispered.
She almost laughed at herself.
The baby was still too small to hear her.
Still, talking to the little life inside her had become comforting.
She picked up her phone again.
No message.
She typed:
Are you okay?
She stared at it.
Then deleted it.
She didn't want to be the woman who constantly checked where Damian was.
She didn't want to become suspicious.
She didn't want to make him feel as though he was being punished for something he hadn't done.
So she put the phone down.
Ten minutes later, she heard the front door open.
Amara immediately sat up.
"Damian?"
No answer.
She heard his shoes scrape against the floor.
Then silence.
She stood.
He appeared in the doorway.
And immediately, she knew.
He was drunk.
Not slightly.
Not I've had a couple of drinks drunk.
Actually drunk.
His tie was loose around his neck. His hair was messy. His normally immaculate shirt was untucked on one side.
He leaned against the doorway.
Amara stared at him.
"Damian?"
He looked at her.
For a moment, his expression softened.
"There you are."
Her stomach tightened.
"Are you drunk?"
He smiled.
"A little."
"You're more than a little."
He walked toward her.
She stepped back instinctively.
He noticed.
His smile disappeared.
"Why did you move?"
"I didn't."
"You did."
"You're drunk."
"I told you I had drinks."
"How many?"
He shrugged.
"I don't know."
Amara stared at him.
She had never seen him like this.
Not really.
She had seen him drink before.
But Damian always seemed to remain in control.
Tonight, he wasn't.
"Did you drive?"
He frowned.
"No."
"Good."
"My driver brought me."
She nodded.
"Come sit down."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
"I'm fine, Amara."
His voice was sharper.
She went quiet.
Damian looked at her for several seconds.
Then his expression softened again.
"I'm sorry."
He stepped closer.
"I didn't mean that."
Amara nodded.
"Come on."
She guided him toward the sofa.
He sat heavily.
She crouched in front of him and started removing his shoes.
He looked down at her.
"You don't have to do that."
"I know."
"Then why are you?"
"Because you're drunk."
He watched her.
"You've always taken care of me."
Amara looked up.
"I love you."
He reached for her face.
She let him touch her cheek.
"I love you too."
For one brief moment, everything felt normal.
Then Damian's phone vibrated.
His hand dropped.
The phone was on the sofa beside him.
Amara glanced at it.
The screen lit up.
Elena.
She froze.
Damian didn't seem to notice.
The notification disappeared.
Amara looked at him.
"Who is Elena?"
His eyes flickered toward the phone.
Then back to her.
"No one."
Something inside her tightened.
"No one?"
"Someone from work."
"You have a woman from work messaging you this late?"
Damian sighed.
"Amara, I'm tired."
"So am I."
He reached for the phone.
She watched him unlock it.
The screen immediately filled with notifications.
He frowned.
Then turned it face down.
Amara's heart began beating faster.
"Why did you do that?"
"Because I don't want to talk about work tonight."
"Is that what this is?"
"Yes."
She stared at him.
Damian rubbed his face.
"I'm going to bed."
He stood.
He nearly stumbled.
Amara caught his arm.
"Careful."
He looked at her.
For a second, she thought he was going to say something.
Instead, he simply walked toward the bedroom.
His phone remained on the sofa.
Amara stared at it.
She knew she shouldn't touch it.
She knew that.
But the name remained in her mind.
Elena.
She stood there for almost a minute.
Then she picked up the phone.
Her heart was pounding.
She didn't want to look.
She shouldn't look.
But she did.
The phone was already unlocked.
The conversation was open.
Amara's breath caught.
There were messages.
Lots of them.
The latest one was from Elena.
I still think about you.
Amara's fingers went cold.
She scrolled.
Damian's reply appeared beneath it.
I think about you too.
Amara stopped breathing.
She read it again.
And again.
Another message.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we hadn't ended things.
Damian:
So do I.
Amara stared at the screen.
Her eyes filled with tears.
She scrolled further.
There were older messages.
Weeks of them.
Not every conversation was romantic.
Some were ordinary.
Work.
Business.
Memories.
But then there were messages like:
You were always different.
And:
I still remember us.
And:
It's strange seeing you happy.
Amara's chest tightened.
Then Elena had written:
Do you really love her?
Amara's thumb stopped moving.
She stared at the screen.
Damian's response was beneath it.
There was no answer.
Only three dots from the next message.
Damian?
Then:
I asked you a question.
Another pause.
And finally:
I don't know what I feel anymore.
Amara covered her mouth.
A quiet sob escaped.
She quickly turned the screen off.
She put the phone exactly where she had found it.
Then she stood completely still.
She didn't hear Damian return.
She didn't notice him until his voice came from behind her.
"Amara?"
She turned.
He was standing in the hallway.
His eyes were tired.
"What are you doing?"
She looked at him.
"Who is Elena?"
His face changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Enough for Amara to notice.
"Why?"
"Who is she?"
"An old girlfriend."
The words hit harder than she expected.
"An old girlfriend."
"Yes."
"You told me she was no one."
"I was drunk."
"You lied."
"I didn't want to have this conversation tonight."
"You've been talking to her."
Damian said nothing.
"How long?"
"Amara—"
"How long?"
"A few weeks."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Why?"
"Because she contacted me."
"And you answered."
"Yes."
"Why?"
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"I don't know."
Amara laughed through her tears.
"You don't know?"
"It's complicated."
"What's complicated?"
"You wouldn't understand."
She stared at him.
"Try me."
Damian looked away.
"She was part of my life a long time ago."
"And now?"
He didn't answer.
Amara's voice became quieter.
"Do you still love her?"
His eyes returned to hers.
"No."
The answer came quickly.
But it wasn't enough.
"Then why did you tell her you think about her?"
Damian was silent.
"Why did you tell her you wonder what would've happened?"
"I was drunk."
"That doesn't make it disappear."
"I know."
"You told her you don't know what you feel anymore."
Damian's face tightened.
"I was angry."
"At me?"
He didn't answer.
Amara's heart broke.
"At me."
"Amara—"
"You're angry at me."
"That's not what I said."
"You didn't have to."
She stepped away from him.
Her hand instinctively went to her stomach.
Damian noticed.
"Please don't do this tonight."
"Do what?"
"Turn this into something it isn't."
She stared at him.
"Then tell me what it is."
He had no answer.
Amara nodded slowly.
"That's what I thought."
She walked toward the bedroom.
"Where are you going?"
"To sleep."
"Amara."
She stopped.
He looked at her.
"I haven't cheated on you."
She closed her eyes.
"I didn't ask."
"Yes, you did."
"No."
She turned.
"I asked whether you still loved her."
Damian said nothing.
And somehow, that silence hurt more than any answer could have.
---
Amara barely slept.
She lay awake for hours.
The messages played over and over in her mind.
I think about you too.
So do I.
I don't know what I feel anymore.
She hated herself for reading them.
She hated Damian for writing them.
And most of all, she hated the tiny voice inside her asking whether this was somehow her fault.
Had she changed?
Had Damian stopped loving her after everything she'd done?
Had he forgiven her because he wanted to keep their relationship but secretly wished he were with someone else?
Maybe Elena was easier.
Maybe Elena didn't carry the history they did.
Maybe Elena didn't remind him of betrayal.
Maybe Elena didn't make him question whether trust was possible.
Amara looked at Damian sleeping beside her.
His face was peaceful.
Almost innocent.
She wondered how someone could look so familiar and suddenly feel so far away.
Her eyes moved toward the bathroom mirror.
She looked exhausted.
She looked different.
Pregnancy had already begun changing her.
She touched her stomach.
"Is it me?" she whispered.
The question frightened her.
Because she didn't know the answer.
And for the first time since meeting Damian, Amara wondered whether she was slowly becoming afraid of losing a man who might already be slipping away from her.
She closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, she would ask him everything.
At least, she told herself she would.
But deep down, she already knew something had changed.
Not because she had proof that Damian had betrayed her.
She didn't.
What she had was something more dangerous.
Doubt.
And once doubt entered a relationship, it didn't always need evidence to grow.
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