Alex decided to make up for his mistake and prove to Helen that he still loved her.
Every morning, before the sun had even risen, he would be the first to get up. He'd go downstairs in silence, make coffee, and set the table with care. When she entered the kitchen, still carrying the melancholy in her eyes and the fatigue etched into her face, she would find her cup ready, with just the right amount of sugar she liked. He wouldn't say a word, just watched her quietly from a distance as she drank in silence.
With Luke, his love overflowed in clumsy but genuine ways. He knelt down to help him tie his shoes, lifted him up in his arms when he came running home from school, and pretended to roar like monsters at night to scare away his son's fears before bedtime. In those moments, he clung to Luke's laughter like a castaway to driftwood in the middle of a storm.
With his wife, however, his penance was patience. He didn't pressure her, but neither did he drift away. He gave her space, but with subtle gestures reminded her he was still there: a blanket draped over her shoulders when she fell asleep on the couch, her coat waiting for her by the door when she left the house, a respectful distance between them when walking with their son, as if afraid a single wrong move might send her running.
Each night, as she locked herself in the bedroom and he remained on the sofa, he replayed the moment he lost everything. His mistake. His fault. The way he tore apart something he might never be able to fix. But he kept trying, day after day, with the hope that one day Helen wouldn't just look at him—but truly see him again.
One afternoon, while she was reviewing some documents in the living room, he approached with uncertain steps.
—I'm heading out to buy a few things,— he said calmly. —Do you want me to bring you anything?
Her answer came as a slight shake of the head, without even looking at him.
He wetted his lips and rested a hand on the back of the armchair, searching for balance in a shaky world.
—I just want you to know... there's no one else. It's only you... it's always been you.
She closed her eyes for a moment. She had waited to hear those words, but now that they were right in front of her, they didn't feel like enough. She looked up and saw him standing there, anguish written all over his face, the scars of the past still raw in his gaze.
—That doesn't change what you did.
He nodded slowly, swallowing the response he wanted to give.
—I know. But I'm going to keep trying.
Days passed, and although she still kept her distance, something in her gaze began to soften. He noticed it in the small gestures: she no longer tensed up when he was near, and her voice had lost that icy edge when she spoke to him. One night, as he covered her with a blanket while she slept on the sofa, she shifted slightly and, for the first time in months, didn't pull away from his touch.
One day, after dropping Luke off at school, they drove back together. Rain tapped gently against the windows, and the silence between them was comfortable now—not strained, like before.
—Do you think you'll ever be able to forgive me?— he asked quietly, as if afraid to break the moment.
Helen didn't answer right away. Her fingers played with the hem of her coat and, after a long sigh, she looked at him.
—I don't know if I can forget everything that happened... but I want to try.
The world seemed to pause. He felt air rush back into his lungs after what had felt like an eternity. He took her hand and squeezed it gently.
—That's all I ask,— he replied sincerely.
And in that simple, meaningful gesture, he knew he had found a small light in the darkness.
Forgiveness didn't come all at once, but little by little, he began to earn it...
One quiet night, with a soft breeze slipping through the half-open window, she sat in the living room, wrapped in an ivory satin robe, her bare feet resting on the carpet. She held a cup of tea between her hands, letting the warmth seep into her skin.
He appeared at the doorway, wearing a blue shirt rolled up to his elbows and dark pants. He was barefoot, as if afraid even the slightest sound could shatter the stillness of the night. He stood there for a moment, watching her carefully.
—I couldn't sleep,— she said without looking at him, turning the cup between her fingers.
He walked over slowly and sat at the other end of the sofa.
——Me neither.
There was a pause, a dense but not uncomfortable silence. He ran a hand through his hair—a nervous gesture she knew well.
—Tell me there's still something in you that remembers me with love,— he whispered.
Helen set the cup down on the table and looked at him. Her face was lit only by the soft glow of a nearby lamp, casting gentle shadows on her cheeks.
—It's not that simple,— she murmured. —The pain is still there. But also... she paused, her lips slightly parted, there are memories I don't want to lose.
He leaned in slightly, still not daring to touch her.
—I don't want you to forget anything,— he said with a sigh. —I just want to make new memories—different ones... better ones.
She watched him, her eyes shimmering with restrained emotion. There was a moment of hesitation, then she lifted her hand and placed it over his. He held his breath at the touch of her fingers.
—I don't know when it stopped hurting so much,— she admitted. —But now I just want to stop being afraid.
Gently, as if every movement were a plea, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly.
—I can't promise everything will be perfect,— he whispered against her skin, —but I promise I'll make every day worth it.
She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his voice settle in her chest. Then, with a slight nod, she moved closer until their lips met.
The kiss was intense. He lifted her in his arms, climbed the stairs, and carried her to the master bedroom. He laid her down gently on the bed.
—You're beautiful,— he murmured with a rough voice, his eyes tracing every detail of her figure.
Helen looked at him with a mix of desire and vulnerability. There was no hesitation in her expression this time, only a slow surrender, as if she had finally decided to let the last wall fall.
When he raised his hand to brush her cheek, she closed her eyes and leaned slightly into the touch. His fingers traced the line of her jaw, slowly gliding down to her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath her skin.
—There's no rush,— he whispered, perhaps more to himself than to her.
But when she slipped her hands under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, his breath caught. Helen unbuttoned it slowly, letting the fabric fall away, revealing the body she knew—and yet felt like she was rediscovering.
They looked at each other in silence, as if trying to memorize one another before taking the next step.
She placed her hands on his chest and pulled him closer. He fell into her embrace with a smile caught between yearning and joy.
The kiss was slow, charged with everything they hadn't said for so long. He let her take the lead, guiding the moment with gentle movements, with how her lips lingered over every corner of his skin.
Clothes disappeared between caresses and sighs, each garment left behind like the last of their resistance. He held her with reverent tenderness, his hands moving slowly over every curve he already knew.
When they finally came together, it wasn't just desire that filled the air—but a deep recognition, a need to find one another again, in body and soul.
She clung to him, her nails leaving faint marks on his back, while he buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing her in, losing himself in her.
Afterward, they lay tangled in the dim light, their legs intertwined beneath the sheets, breathing in unison. He drew lazy circles on her bare back, and she, eyes half-closed, whispered against his chest:
—Don't let go.
—Never again,— he answered, kissing her forehead and wrapping her in his arms.