Chapter 18: The Healing
It had been a week since the accident.
The bruises had started to fade, but the heaviness inside me hadn't—at least, not until that night.
The hospital room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the lamp by my bedside. The nurse told us that I can be discharge tomorrow.Lucas sat on the couch, silent as always, scrolling through his phone but not really reading anything. He'd been quieter these past few days—different. The way he looked at me wasn't the same as before. There was no demand in his eyes, no pressure, no control. Just... quiet longing.
"Lucas," I finally said, breaking the silence.
He looked up instantly, like he'd been waiting for me to speak all along. "Yes?"
"Can we talk?"
His expression shifted, a hint of worry flashing across his face. "Of course."
He stood and moved to sit on the chair beside me.
For a moment, I just stared at him—this man who used to terrify me, now sitting still like he was afraid of me. His hand rested on his knee, trembling slightly, as if he didn't know whether he was allowed to reach for me.
"I need to ask you something," I said softly. "Why… did you really marry me?"
He froze, his jaw tightening. His eyes fell to the floor.
"I could say it was because I wanted to save your family," he said quietly, "but that would be a lie. The truth is… I couldn't stand seeing you belong to a world that wasn't mine."
I looked away, swallowing hard. "That's not love, Lucas."
"I know," he whispered. "It was obsession. Possession. I thought keeping you meant keeping love. But all I did was cage you."
His voice broke then, raw and trembling. "I hurt you in ways I swore I never would. And when I finally realized it… it was too late. You were already afraid of me."
My chest tightened. I had waited for this—for honesty. For him to stop pretending that his control was love.
"I hated you," I admitted, my voice low. "I hated that you took everything from me… but I also hated myself for still caring."
He lifted his gaze to mine, eyes wide. "Caring?"
I nodded slowly. "Yes. Because even when I wanted to hate you, part of me still saw the man who carried me when I was scared. Who looked at me like I was the only thing keeping him alive. It was twisted, but it was real."
Lucas's breath hitched, and he pressed a hand over his face, his shoulders shaking. "Vierrah…"
His voice cracked completely. "I don't deserve that. I don't deserve you."
I watched him unravel, every wall he'd built over the years breaking apart in front of me. He wasn't the cold, powerful CEO anymore. He wasn't the man who once controlled my every step. He was just… Lucas. Lost, guilty, and human.
He reached for my hand, but hesitated mid-air. "May I?"
I didn't speak. I just nodded.
His fingers brushed mine gently, reverently, like he was holding something sacred. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "For the lies. For the fear. For every night you cried because of me. I will never—never—be that man again."
I felt the tremor in his voice, the sincerity bleeding from his words. He wasn't begging this time. He wasn't manipulating. He was confessing.
"I don't know if I can ever forget everything," I said softly. "But… I want to heal, Lucas. And maybe… I want you to heal, too."
His grip tightened, just a little. "Then let me start by being the man you deserve. No conditions. No control. Just me… learning to love you the right way."
Silence fell again, heavy and fragile. My throat ached with unshed tears.
And then, slowly, I pulled my hand free—only to place it against his cheek. His breath caught, eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into my touch like it was the only warmth he'd ever known.
"I don't forgive you yet," I whispered. "But I'm not running anymore."
He opened his eyes then, glistening with tears that finally fell. "That's more than I could ever ask for."
Before I could speak, he moved closer—slowly, carefully—and wrapped his arms around me. Not the suffocating hold he used to give, but something softer. Real. His chest trembled against mine, his breath uneven.
I felt his heart pounding—wild, scared, alive.
And for the first time, I didn't pull away.
I let him hold me, and in that quiet hospital room filled with broken hearts and healing souls, we finally breathed the same air without fear.
It wasn't forgiveness yet.
But it was a beginning.
He whispered against my hair, voice hoarse with emotion, "Thank you for giving me a chance to change."
And I, with my heart still scarred but open, whispered back, "Don't waste it, Lucas. This time, mean it."
He nodded against me, his arms tightening in silent promise.
No lies. No games. No walls.
Just two people — broken, learning, and maybe… slowly healing together.
---
Later that night, long after the nurses had dimmed the lights and the hallway outside went quiet, I woke up to the sound of rain. Lucas was still there—sitting by my bed, head resting on his arms, fast asleep. His hand was still holding mine, tightly, as if afraid that if he let go, I'd disappear again.
I traced his fingers lightly, noticing the faint scars near his knuckles. The kind of marks that spoke of fights—against others, against himself. For the first time, I didn't see a monster in him. I saw a man fighting his own darkness.
Something inside me softened.
Maybe healing wasn't about forgetting the pain or pretending it never happened. Maybe it was about finally being able to look at it—at him—and not tremble anymore.
The storm outside raged on, but inside that hospital room, it felt oddly peaceful.
When Lucas stirred awake, his eyes met mine immediately, bleary but gentle. "You should be sleeping," he murmured, voice low and rough.
I smiled faintly. "You, too."
He sat up straighter, stretching slightly. "I don't want to leave you alone."
"I'm not alone," I said, looking at him. "Not anymore."
Something flickered in his expression—hope, disbelief, maybe both. "Then… can I stay?"
"You already are," I whispered.
He smiled then, the smallest, most genuine smile I'd seen from him in years. "Then I'll stay until you tell me not to."
I didn't answer. I just squeezed his hand.
And that night, for the first time in a long time, we both slept—not as prisoner and captor, not as broken halves—but as two souls who had finally stopped running from the truth.
Maybe love wasn't perfect. Maybe it never would be.
But as I drifted off to sleep beside him, I realized something simple, something real—
sometimes, healing begins with the person who once broke you learning how to put you back together, piece by fragile piece.