The Man I Loved

Chapter Four - The First Crack

Amara had never understood how quickly a person could become part of your everyday life.

Three months ago, Damian Vale had been a stranger sitting alone beside a window.

Now, she woke up thinking about him.

She checked her phone hoping for his messages.

She knew how he liked his coffee.

She knew which songs he listened to when he worked late.

She even knew the silence he used when something was bothering him.

And Damian knew her.

At least, she thought he did.

He knew she hated thunderstorms.

He knew she loved old books.

He knew she called her mother every Sunday.

He knew she always became quiet when she was upset.

He knew everything.

Or almost everything.

---

On Saturday afternoon, Amara was shopping with her friend, Sophie.

Sophie had known Amara before Damian.

Before the expensive clothes.

Before the fancy restaurants.

Before Amara started driving a car Damian had insisted she use.

"You've changed," Sophie said.

Amara looked up from the dress she was holding.

"Is that bad?"

"No."

Sophie hesitated.

"It's just… different."

Amara smiled.

"I've grown."

"I know."

Sophie looked at her carefully.

"Are you happy?"

Amara didn't hesitate.

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Really."

Her phone buzzed.

Damian: Where are you?

Amara frowned.

She typed:

Amara: Shopping with Sophie.

His response came quickly.

Damian: When will you be home?

She looked at the message.

Something about it made her pause.

She replied:

Amara: I'm not sure. Why?

Three dots appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then appeared again.

Damian: Nothing. Just asking.

Amara slipped her phone into her handbag.

Sophie noticed.

"Everything okay?"

"Yes."

But she wasn't entirely sure.

---

That evening, Damian was waiting when Amara arrived home.

He was sitting in his car outside her apartment.

She opened the passenger door.

"Hi."

He looked at her.

"Hi."

Something was wrong.

She could feel it.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You don't look like nothing."

His jaw tightened.

"I don't like not knowing where you are."

Amara stared at him.

"I told you."

"You told me after I asked."

"I was shopping."

"With Sophie."

"Yes."

He looked away.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Damian sighed.

"I'm sorry."

Amara softened immediately.

He reached for her hand.

"I've had a long day."

She squeezed his fingers.

"It's okay."

He kissed her knuckles.

"I don't want to fight with you."

"Neither do I."

He smiled.

And just like that, the tension disappeared.

At least for the moment.

---

A month later, Damian took Amara to a charity gala.

She wore a black dress he'd chosen himself.

When she stepped out of the bedroom, he stared at her.

"Beautiful."

She smiled.

"Do you approve?"

"Very much."

He approached her and adjusted one of her earrings.

"Stay close to me tonight."

She laughed.

"Why?"

"Because everyone here knows me."

"And?"

"And not everyone wants me to succeed."

Amara nodded.

She didn't question him.

Not anymore.

At the gala, people greeted Damian constantly.

Businessmen.

Politicians.

Celebrities.

Women in designer gowns.

One woman in particular caught Amara's attention.

She was beautiful.

Tall.

Confident.

And completely comfortable around Damian.

She touched his arm while laughing at something he said.

Amara watched.

She didn't know why the sight bothered her.

But it did.

When the woman walked away, Amara asked casually,

"Who was that?"

"Someone I used to know."

"An ex?"

Damian looked at her.

"No."

The answer came too quickly.

Amara smiled.

"Okay."

He leaned closer.

"Are you jealous?"

"No."

"You are."

She rolled her eyes.

"I'm not."

He smiled.

"I like it."

She laughed.

"You're impossible."

He kissed her forehead.

Then they returned to the party.

But later that night, when Amara woke briefly, she noticed Damian standing by the bedroom window.

He was holding a glass.

She couldn't tell what was inside.

"Damian?"

He turned.

"Go back to sleep."

She looked at him.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

She closed her eyes.

She believed him.

For now.

She didn't know that the glass in his hand would eventually become a familiar sight.

And she didn't know that the man standing quietly beside the window was carrying wounds he had never learned how to heal.

The first crack had appeared.

Neither of them noticed it.

Yet.