Chapter 5
466words
When he steps into my world again with that familiar scent and warmth, the deep-rooted longing in my body will still overcome my rational pain.
But I can no longer throw myself unreservedly into his presence as before. The betrayal I witnessed stands between us like an invisible barrier. When he touches me, I wonder if this tenderness has been given to others. When he gazes at me, I question whether he sees the unique me or just another interchangeable reflection.
I don't know if what I feel is love. Nor do I know if what binds us together deserves to be called loyalty.
I only know I can't leave him.
This realization devastated me more than the betrayal itself. Even knowing that beyond my door, he gives others the same things he once gave only to me; even though he disappears for days, leaving me alone in vast emptiness; when the wait grows long enough, the pain of separation gradually transforms into a humble kind of hope.
I hope for his return, hope for his brief, incomplete companionship.
In moments of clarity, I despise myself for this weakness. I am beyond salvation.
Days flow by, one after another, just getting by.
Time is the best anesthetic; it doesn't remove the thorn, but makes me gradually accustomed to its presence through daily, dull pain.
I reached a long-overdue reconciliation with myself. So be it, I told myself. If my life is destined to flutter through just this one existence, then having part of him is better than returning to that initial, complete, boundless silence of death.
I began adapting to this divided life.
When he's present, my world illuminates. The novel foods he brings, the games only we understand, his focused and gentle attention—these are enough to make me temporarily forget everything else.
I greedily savor these brief, fulfilling moments. And when he leaves, as my world fades back to gray, I retreat to my corner alone to process the immense emptiness.
We tried to transform our connection into something more lasting. We once hoped to nurture new life that would belong to us both.
Yet no matter how intimately we joined, this fertile ground I possessed never bore fruit.
That hope eventually became another silent loss. So be it. I have a vast domain, my family has ensured my security and comfort, and I have a partner I love uniquely, even if this love remains incomplete.
By any measure, I should be content.
But sometimes, wandering alone through the garden, seeing companions who have been together since childhood—those who were inseparable years ago and naturally remain together today—that suppressed resentment I've forcefully buried spreads like vines from the deepest part of my heart, bringing with it a sharp sting of jealousy.
