His Regret-The Wife He Broke and Lost

Chapter 2- The Words That Broke me

The next morning came too quickly. I didn’t remember falling asleep.

One moment, I had been sitting at the dining table, staring at the melted wax of candles that had burned themselves out waiting… and the next, I was waking up in a cold bed that felt far too wide for one person.

The other side was untouched. Just like the dinner had been. At some point during the night, I had cleaned everything.

The plates were gone. The wine glasses were polished and returned to their cabinet. The carefully prepared dishes were packed away in silence, as though they had never meant anything at all. I didn’t remember doing it. But I knew why I had.

Because leaving it there would have been worse. It would have meant waking up to proof. Proof that I had waited. And he hadn’t come. I sat up slowly, pressing my palm against my chest as if I could steady something inside it.

But the ache was still there, quiet and persistent. Not sharp enough to break me. But heavy enough to follow me everywhere. I forced myself out of bed.

By the time I reached the kitchen, I had already slipped into routine. The kettle went on. Bread into the toaster. Eggs were cracked into a pan. My hands moved like they always did, even when my mind felt far away from my body.

Routine was easier. Routine didn’t ask questions. Routine didn’t remind me that yesterday had been our anniversary.

The thought slipped in anyway. Uninvited. I swallowed it down.

Then— Voices.

I stilled.

They were coming from the living room.

My fingers tightened slightly around the tray I had just picked up. Adams was awake. And he wasn’t alone. For a brief, fragile second, something flickered in my chest—so small I almost didn’t recognize it.

Maybe he had remembered. Maybe he had come back early. Maybe....

“I told you from the beginning,” a woman’s voice cut through the air, smooth and sharp. “That marriage was a mistake.”

I froze. My breath caught. I knew that voice..

Vanessa of course.

A quiet, familiar unease crept through me. Vanessa was everything I wasn’t—confident, effortless, certain of her place in the world. The kind of woman who never had to question whether she belonged beside a man like Adams.

The kind of woman I had spent years trying not to compare myself to.

“I don’t need a reminder,” Adams replied.

with a very calm tone.

My grip tightened on the tray.

“Oh?” Vanessa’s voice held a trace of amusement. “Then why are you still stuck in it?”

Silence followed. But long enough. My heartbeat began to climb, each pulse louder than the last, echoing in my ears like a warning I couldn’t escape. Something about that pause felt… final.

Like standing at the edge of something I wouldn’t be able to come back from.

Then with a low tone, Adam spoke;

“I regret it.”

The tray slipped slightly in my hands.

“I regret marrying her.”

Everything inside me went still. Not the room, not the world, just me. It was as if something deep inside me had quietly shut down, unable to process what I had just heard.

Vanessa let out a soft laugh. “Finally,” she said. “Something honest.”

I tried to breathe. But the air felt wrong.

“…She was never what I wanted,” Adams continued.No hesitation, no anger, just certainty.

“This marriage was an obligation. Nothing more.” Each word landed with devastating precision. Not loud. Not cruel. Just… true. And that was what made it unbearable. Because anger could fade. Harsh words could be taken back.

But this?

This sounded like something he had accepted long ago. Something he had lived with while I kept trying.

I took a step back. Then another.

My movements felt distant, as though I were watching myself from somewhere far away. I didn’t want to hear more. But I couldn’t move fast enough.

“She doesn’t even fit into my life,” Adams added. “I don’t know what they expected.”

Six years.

Six years of trying to fit into a space that had never been made for me.

Vanessa’s voice softened slightly. “Then end it.”

A short pause;

“I will.”

That was it. No hesitation, no weight. Just a decision. And something inside me finally gave way. Not loudly, not all at once.

Just… quietly. Like something that had been holding on for too long finally letting go.

I didn’t realize I had made it back into the kitchen until the counter pressed against my hands. The tray trembled before I set it down. My fingers lingered on it, gripping the edge as though it were the only thing keeping me upright.

My head lowered. For a long moment, I didn’t move. Didn’t cry. Didn’t speak. Because what was there left to say?

Six years of being patient. Of being understanding. Of telling myself that love didn’t always come easily. That it could grow. That if I stayed long enough, tried hard enough, gave enough… He would see me. He would choose me. He would love me.

But now—I understand.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t. It was that he never wanted to. A tear slipped down my cheek. Then another. They fell quietly, without sound, as if even my pain had learned not to disturb the silence of this house.

Upstairs, footsteps echoed faintly.

I inhaled sharply. My hands moved quickly, wiping my face, forcing everything back into place. By the time Adams walked into the kitchen, I was already composed. Or at least… I looked like I was.

“I’ll be out tonight,” he said, reaching for a glass of water.

He didn’t look at me, not once then I nodded "Okay.”

The word came out steady and empty. No questions, no resistance. For a brief second, he slightly paused. As if something about my response didn’t sit right. I kept my gaze lowered. Still and Unreadable.

He noticed my eyes were red but said nothing. He felt the difference in my silence but never asked. And just like that— He turned. And left.

The door closed. And I was alone again.

But this time… something was different.

The ache was still there. But the hope; the fragile, stubborn hope I had carried for six years—was gone.

Not shattered, not ripped away.

Just… gone. Like a light that had quietly gone out.

I exhaled slowly. My shoulders lowered.

And something inside me finally settled.

Not peace but clarity. For the first time since I had married him—I wasn’t waiting anymore.

My gaze drifted toward the dining room. The table was clean now as though nothing had happened. I looked at it for a long moment.

Then I turned away. My eyes lifted toward the staircase. Toward the life I had spent years trying to hold together.

For a moment, I stood still.

Then I moved. One step then another.

Each one is steady. The house was silent as I climbed the stairs. Too silent. Like it was watching me. I reached the bedroom door and pushed it open.

Nothing had changed. Everything was exactly where it had always been. Neat, Orderly, and Cold.

My gaze moved slowly across the room until it stopped at the corner. Where a suitcase sat untouched and forgotten for years.

I stared at it for a long, quiet moment then I slowly walked toward it. As if every step was crossing a line I could never uncross, I reached out and my fingers brushed lightly against the handle.

For a second—I hesitated.

Six years of staying. Of hoping. Of trying. Then— My grip tightened. And this time… I didn’t let go.