Damien’s POV
I stood there in the living room, listening to the noises coming from her room, drawers opening and shutting, hangers scraping, bags rustling.
Something was wrong.
Really wrong.
I walked to her door, hesitating for a second with my hand hovering over the handle, then knocked softly.
“Elena?”
She didn’t answer.
But the movement inside got faster, sharper, like she was trying to move quickly.
I pushed the door open carefully and my chest tightened immediately.
She was packing, not calmly.
She shoved clothes into her bag without any order, her hands shaking as she grabbed whatever she could reach.
She wasn’t crying, not exactly.
She was just having that terrifying quiet panic, the kind where everything stays bottled until it explodes.
“Elena,” I said, stepping inside, walking toward her carefully, like one wrong move might break her.
“If I said something wrong, just tell me, okay?”
Nothing.
She didn’t even look at me.
She just kept stuffing clothes into her bag like she needed to leave right now.
“Please,” I tried again, moving a little closer.
“Talk to me. What’s going on?”
Still nothing, just the sound of zippers and her frantic breathing.
I swallowed, lowering my voice.
“If talking about… kids upset you, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things weird. I wasn’t trying to…”
She froze.
Her back stiffened and her fingers tightened painfully around the shirt she was holding.
“Elena…?”
I didn’t touch her.
I didn’t dare.
But the air in the room shifted instantly.
The silence dragged for a few seconds, thick and uncomfortable.
Then she finally spoke, so quietly I almost missed it.
“Don’t talk about children with me. Ever.”
Her voice…
It wasn’t angry.
It was broken.
And it threw me off completely.
“Elena… what happened?”
She turned around so fast it actually made me stop mid step.
Her eyes were glossy, her face tight, and she looked angry, hurt, exhausted.
All at once.
We just stared at each other, neither of us moved.
“You really want to know?” she said, her voice low.
She dropped the shirt she was holding on the bed like she didn’t care about it anymore.
I nodded slowly.
I didn’t trust myself to say anything yet.
“I was pregnant, Damien.”
My brain blanked out for a second.
I couldn’t process what she said.
“What?” I breathed.
“You were pregnant?”
”I lost it.” Her voice shook.
“The baby. Our baby. I lost it.”
The words dropped like a bomb and everything inside me just… stopped.
I reached for the wall, because my legs felt like they weren’t working right.
“When?” I asked, even though it came out barely audible.
She scoffed, wiping her tears.
“Don’t bother. You wouldn’t remember. You didn’t even notice.” Her voice rose, sharper now.
“You were too wrapped up with Victoria and work and everything else that wasn’t me.”
”Elena…” I tried stepping closer, but she turned away like she couldn’t stand it.
“I lost the baby alone,” she said, her voice breaking completely now.
“In a hospital, all by myself.
And you…” she shook her head, tears running down her cheeks, “you didn’t even know where I was.”
I couldn’t move, I couldn’t say anything.
I just stood there, taking every word like a hit.
“I had to choose,” she whispered, hugging herself.
“Between telling you… and feeling like a burden in my own marriage.”
”Elena, you were never…” I reached out instinctively, then pulled my hand back because she looked like she’d push me off a cliff if I touched her.
“So I stayed silent,” she said, wiping her face angrily.
“And it destroyed me, Damien. It destroyed me. And you never even noticed.”
I stepped forward again, slower this time.
“Elena… I’m so sorry. I’m…”
She backed up instantly, like I’d burned her.
“Don’t. Don’t touch me.”
My voice cracked.
“Please, just let me…”
”No!” she said, louder this time, her voice splitting open. This story is hosted at g.com.
“You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to… be you. Not after everything.”
”Elena, please listen to me,” I choked out, my eyes stinging.
“I swear I didn’t know.”
”That’s the problem,” she threw back, shaking all over.
“You never knew, Damien. You never paid attention long enough to see YOUR WIFE falling apart right in front of you.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
I didn’t know what to say.
There weren’t any words, nothing that wouldn’t sound useless.
She shook her head, grabbing her phone with trembling hands.
When she looked back at me, something inside me shattered.
Pain.
Betrayal.
Exhaustion.
All of it aimed at me.
Then she brushed past, heading fast to the door.
“Elena, wait,” I said, my voice breaking as I followed her.
“Please don’t go. J-just let me talk to you…”
But she was already out.
The door slammed behind her, loud enough to shake the entire suite.
I stayed frozen in her room, surrounded by the mess she’d left behind, clothes half packed, drawers still open, her perfume lingering in the air.
My hand was still half raised like an idiot, reaching for someone who wasn’t there anymore.
“I was pregnant. I lost the baby. I went through it alone.”
Her words replayed over and over in my head.
My legs gave out, and I sat on her bed, burying my face in my hands.
She had been pregnant with our child.
And I was too blind and too selfish to even notice.
She went through losing that baby.
Alone.
And she carried that grief for years while I acted like nothing was wrong.
I thought of every night I came home late, every time she looked sad and I brushed it off, every moment I’d chosen work or Victoria or anything else over her.
My stomach twisted.
I wanted to throw up.
She needed me.
And I wasn’t there.
Now she’s gone again, running from me again, and for the first time, I understood exactly why.