100 Days with My Ex-husband

Chapter 5: It's him

It was Vincent, his face softer now, his expression filled with concern. He stood beside me, holding out a handkerchief, but I ignored it, keeping my gaze fixed on the floor. My hands trembled as I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand, not wanting to acknowledge the kindness he was offering.

The emotions inside me were a storm—anger, sorrow, regret—and I didn’t know how to process any of it, so I chose silence instead.

He stood there, unmoving, patiently waiting, as though he knew I wasn’t ready to speak yet. I could feel his presence, calm and steady, like an anchor in the chaotic mess I was struggling to hold together.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, he spoke softly. "Nora, you don’t have to face this alone."

I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "I don’t need anyone," I muttered under my breath, my voice rough from crying.

"Especially not you. You’re just like him."

Vincent didn’t flinch. "I’m not Cross, Nora. Don’t judge me by what he did."

My eyes shot up, meeting his, anger flashing in my chest. "You’re all the same. Promises, lies, cheating... leaving when it gets hard." My words were harsh, but they felt like the only thing I had left to give, a shield to keep people away from the rawness of my pain.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his voice calm and unwavering.

"Just because someone hurt you doesn’t mean everyone will. I’m not going anywhere, Nora. I’m here because Emily asked me to be."

I tried to shake him off with another sharp laugh, my frustration boiling over. "I don’t need anyone to watch over me. I’m not a child."

But Vincent just stood there, steady, as if he hadn’t heard my words.

I turned away, trying to hold onto the anger, the only thing that seemed to keep me from collapsing. But Vincent didn’t leave.

Instead, he gently placed the handkerchief on the counter in front of me and quietly stepped back, his eyes never leaving mine. He didn’t ask for anything in return—just a simple act of kindness, an offering of comfort without expectation.

The silence between us stretched, but Vincent eventually broke it, his voice gentle but firm. "I know you're in pain, Nora. I know you feel betrayed, and I get it. I’ve been there."

I frowned, my eyes narrowing in confusion. "What do you mean?”

Vincent gave a quiet sigh and sat down next to me, though still keeping some distance between us. "My wife left me for another man," he said, his tone far more matter-of-fact than I expected.

"She promised me forever, just like Cross promised you. And then, one day, she just… left. For him."

I blinked at him, surprised. I hadn’t expected that. I hadn’t seen him as someone who had been through anything close to the pain I was feeling, but now, as he spoke, I could hear the quiet ache in his words, a reflection of what I’d been going through.

"I’m sorry," I whispered, though the words felt inadequate.

He gave a small shrug, his lips curling into a faint, almost sad smile.

"It hurt, yeah. But I’m not going to let it destroy me."

I stared at him, trying to understand. "But how? How did you get through it?"

Vincent took a deep breath, as if considering the question carefully. "I won’t lie—there were days when I couldn’t get out of bed. I felt worthless, like my whole life had fallen apart. But I learned something important: life doesn’t stop for our pain.” He glanced at me, his eyes steady.

"And if you stay stuck in pain, you miss all the chances to heal, to find something better."

I shook my head, still not entirely following him. "But what if there’s nothing better? What if the pain just never goes away?"

Vincent’s expression softened, and he placed a hand on the counter, leaning toward me slightly, his voice quieter now. "The pain won’t go away overnight, and maybe it never fully goes away. But it doesn’t have to control your life. It doesn’t have to define who you are.”

I stared at him, feeling a mix of disbelief and something else—something that almost resembled hope. It sounded so simple, the way he spoke, like it was a truth that could heal all wounds. And maybe it wasn’t that simple. Maybe it never would be. But there was something in the way Vincent looked at me, with no judgment, no impatience, that made me want to try.

He gave me a kind, knowing smile. "The choice is yours, Nora,”

The next morning, I woke up with a sharp headache that pulsed through my temples. I squinted at the sunlight streaming through the blinds, a reminder that life went on despite the storm inside me. The weight of everything—Cross, my mother, the overwhelming loneliness—was still there, but for now, I had to face the day.

I groaned softly, pushing myself out of bed, my body aching from both the emotional and physical toll of the past few days. I walked sluggishly to the door and stepped out into the hallway. The house felt eerily quiet, too quiet, and I felt a sudden thirst in my throat. I needed water—anything to stop the dryness that clung to me.

As I made my way down the stairs, a familiar scent hit my nose. At first, I thought I was imagining things, but as I got closer to the kitchen, I realized it was the smell of steak cooking. The rich, savory aroma made my stomach growl in protest, but it also stirred something in me. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.

When I stepped into the kitchen, I was surprised to find Vincent standing there, focused on preparing a meal. He was expertly flipping the steak in a pan, and a small smile tugged at his lips when he noticed me standing there, taking in the sight.

“Good morning,” he greeted me, his voice warm and calm.

I blinked, still disoriented from the events of last night. “You’re cooking breakfast?”

Vincent gave a small nod, gesturing to the table where plates were already set. “I thought you might be hungry. It’s the least I can do after last night.”

I was taken aback, my surprise mixed with gratitude. No one had done something like this for me in what felt like forever. “Thank you,” I said, my voice a little softer than I expected. “I really didn’t expect this…”

“Well, you should,” he replied, his smile growing slightly. “Everyone needs a good meal, especially after a rough night.”

As I sat down at the table, I couldn’t help but marvel at how effortlessly Vincent moved around the kitchen, like this was just another normal day for him. The tension in my chest loosened a little as I took a bite of the steak—it was cooked perfectly, tender and full of flavor. It was the kind of comfort I didn’t know I needed.

Vincent sat across from me, his gaze steady but kind. After a few moments of comfortable silence, he spoke again, breaking the stillness.

"You should go to the grocery store today," he said, his voice casual but firm. "It’ll help you get out of the house. I know you’ve been isolating yourself, and I understand why. But you need to get some air. You’ve been cooped up in here long enough."

I felt a wave of resistance surge inside me. “I really don’t feel like going anywhere today. I just want to stay in.”

Vincent’s expression didn’t waver. “You need to get out. You can’t stay shut in, Nora. You’ll feel better once you’re out in the world for a bit. I’ll drive you there.”

I sighed, glancing down at my plate, the weight of the past few days settling heavily on my shoulders. But after a moment, I realized he was right. I had been hiding away from everything, and it wasn’t helping. It wasn’t going to fix anything, either. So, reluctantly, I agreed.

“Fine,” I muttered, pushing my plate away. “But only because I don’t want to keep arguing about it.”

Vincent smiled, satisfied with my answer. "Good. I’ll wait for you to get ready."

After breakfast, I went upstairs to shower and try to gather the strength I needed to face the outside world. As I dressed, I couldn’t shake the heaviness in my heart. Every step I took felt like I was dragging the weight of the past behind me.

When I came downstairs, Vincent was already waiting by the door, ready to go. He didn’t rush me, didn’t push me to hurry. He simply opened the door and led the way to the car.

The drive to the supermarket was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. I appreciated the stillness, the absence of forced conversation. Vincent didn’t try to fill the silence, but every now and then, I caught him glancing at me, as if he could sense how much I was still struggling.

When we arrived at the supermarket parking lot, I opened the door and stepped out, stretching my legs after the drive. But as soon as my feet hit the ground, my heart skipped a beat.

There, standing just a few cars away, was Cross.