Secrets I've Held in My Heart

Chapter 23 : Ava

In the quiet hours of the following morning, the two of us settled into plush, inviting chairs, our eyes unwaveringly fixed on the imposing closed door. With each passing moment, we awaited with bated breath the imminent arrival of Alfred into the somber study room. Our sole purpose for being there was to embark on a profound and undoubtedly painful conversation about the formidable decision that loomed before us – the heart-wrenching choice to bring our marriage to a close.

Yes, after a night filled with countless thoughts and soul-searching, I arrived at the heart-wrenching conclusion that divorce was the only path forward for Christian and me.

In the quiet depths of my contemplation, I became convinced that this decision was, in fact, the best choice, not just for myself but for both of us. He married me solely because of my father's last wish, showing no real interest in me. Furthermore, he deserves better, and Jonas doesn't deserve to witness this unhappiness. By getting a divorce, we can return to our normal lives, where everything will fall into place as it should. All of us will find the happiness we deserve and have always dreamed of: me with Jonas, and Christian with someone better suited for him.

Christian is practically Mr. Perfect; he deserves Mrs. Perfect, not a confused, self-deprecating, average-looking girl like me. I believe I did the right thing by deciding to let him go. It should benefit both of us. It's supposed to. Yes, it will.

Alfred burst into the room in a whirlwind of urgency, clad in his impeccably tailored Prada suit that emanated an aura reminiscent of "The Devil Wears Prada." His swift entrance was accompanied by a curt remark, "I'm already running late for work. You'd better have something worth my time." With a brisk reach to the shelf, he snatched an olive-green file, adorning his face with reading glasses, diving into its contents.

A palpable silence enveloped the room. Christian's right foot tapped incessantly on the floor, a nervous rhythm building as he steeled himself to broach the painful topic of our divorce.

Alfred, engrossed in the documents within the olive-green file, halted momentarily, his gaze piercing through the room as he raised an inquisitive brow in our direction. "What's going on? Speak up," he commanded, the tension in the room growing thicker by the second.

A lengthy pause ensued, stretching out for what felt like an eternity, as I patiently awaited Christian's words, hoping he would muster the courage to break the deafening silence. His persistent fidgeting foot echoed my own inner restlessness on the cold, unforgiving marble floor.

As I redirected my gaze from his agitated foot to his face, it became clear that Christian had retreated into a mental cocoon, grappling with a dilemma that seemed as insurmountable as a mountain. While the notion of divorce had originated from him, a sense of concern for his well-being tugged at my heart. It was undeniable that his internal struggle weighed heavily upon him.

In that agonizing moment, I silently vowed that if he looked at me and expressed a desire to give our marriage a second chance, I would do my best to move on from Jonas and work hard towards a brighter future together. A future where the tapestry of our relationship would be woven with threads of love and respect, akin to a cozy, enduring season in our lives.

With a gentle touch, I placed my hand on his restless right thigh, urging his fidgeting to cease, and locked my gaze onto his. In that shared moment, our eyes connected, and we engaged in a silent communion that felt akin to the sun and moon reuniting after a prolonged eclipse, casting aside the darkness in favor of a brighter, shared path.

"Ava! Christian!" The distant voice seemed to echo through the room, growing steadily closer with each impassioned call. "Ava! Christian!" It gained a sense of urgency. "Ava! Christian!" Alfred's sharp, loud voice finally shattered the enchantment of our locked gaze, ripping me from the depths of Christian's eyes, a captivating fusion of cerulean and stormy gray, had held me in a trance. Despite their breathtaking beauty, they harbored a deep well of pain and turmoil, like a tempestuous sea. In those brief moments, we had shared an unspoken connection, a connection that transcended words.

Christian blinked, slowly breaking our intense eye contact. He rose from his chair, the spell of our silent connection severed. "Yes," he responded, his voice carrying the residue of our shared moment. With a discreet throat-clearing, he continued, "Yes, Dad," acknowledging Alfred's summons and returning us to the stark reality of the impending discussion.

Alfred's voice cut through the room, his tone tinged with impatience and concern as he fixed his gaze on each of us. Suspicion clouded his eyes, and his forehead furrowed slightly in worry. "What's going on? Why'd you call for this urgent meeting?" His attention zeroed in on me, and he asked again, this time more directly, "Ava, everything's okay, right?"

I swallowed hard, feeling the gravity of the moment weigh on my shoulders. "Um, Uncle Alfred," I began, my words hesitant, struggling to find their way. "I wanted to... Well, we've been giving this a lot of thought…"

Before I could muster the courage to articulate the painful words, Christian stepped in, his voice steady but tinged with a profound emotion that lay just beneath the surface. "Dad," he declared, his words hanging in the air like an irrevocable decree. "We want a divorce." The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of his statement settling upon us like an impending storm, as we all grappled with the irrevocable change that had just been set in motion.

Alfred's reaction was nothing short of immediate. In a hurried flurry, he removed his reading glasses, his eyes widening in disbelief as the magnitude of our words settled in. "What?" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with a mix of shock and incredulity. An uneasy, uncomfortable laugh slipped from his lips, his brows furrowing as he continued, "You guys must be joking, right?" He desperately searched our faces for any sign of jest, for some hint that we were engaged in a cruel prank, but the somber expressions we wore and the heavy silence that pervaded the room provided no such relief.

In that suspended moment, we couldn't summon the words to either confirm or deny his suspicion. The truth hung heavy in the air, like an elephant in the room that no one wanted to acknowledge. Christian and I exchanged a brief, almost imperceptible glance, a silent acknowledgment of our shared decision. But when it came to vocalizing it to Alfred, we both faltered, casting our eyes downward as if to evade the painful reality that had just unfolded before us. Our silence, in that instance, became the most profound confirmation, as we collectively grappled with the inescapable truth that this was no jest, and our marriage was indeed at its breaking point.

Alfred's response was a blend of disbelief, concern, and disappointment. His voice quivered as he began, "This can't be true." His words hung in the air like a plea for reassurance. "What's the reason?" he pressed, his paternal instincts kicking in. "Is it because you find it difficult to adjust to married life?"

With a gentle yet decisive motion, he placed the olive-green file on his desk and approached us, stepping into the heart of our emotional turmoil. "I know you guys have been best friends since childhood," he continued, his words filled with understanding, "so maybe it's challenging to transition into this new relationship. But it's okay. You don't have to rush things. Take a six-month break, try to see each other as more than just friends, and then ease into this new relationship."

Alfred extended his left hand onto my left shoulder and his right hand onto Christian's right shoulder, a symbolic gesture of support. "Marriage doesn't work like this," he reasoned, his voice softened by paternal concern. "It hasn't even been a week since your wedding, and you want to give up already?"

Christian's response was firm, his voice resolute in its decision. "Yes, Dad, I want to end this marriage," he stated. "Please grant us permission to divorce." His words hung heavy in the room, a stark confirmation of our painful choice that left no room for ambiguity.

"No!" Alfred declared adamantly. His response was swift and unwavering. His voice carried a tone of vehement opposition. "I won't allow you two to divorce." Withdrawing his hands from our shoulders, he adopted a posture of stern authority. His gaze, once filled with concern, had now hardened into a resolute stance.

"Christian, Ava," he continued with unwavering determination, "this conversation is over. Both of you, return to your rooms and prepare for your daily routines. You are not getting a divorce, and that's final." His words hung in the air, a definitive decree that brooked no argument, leaving us with a sense of powerlessness in the face of his uncompromising resolve.

To be continued...