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His Wife, His Mistake
Chapter Fifteen: He Gave Up… Again
POV: Arya
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He was gone.
I knew before I even looked.
No footsteps on the gravel.
No steaming coffee cup on the bench.
No folded paper tucked carefully under the gallery door.
Just silence.
A different kind of silence.
Not the one that begs.
The one that abandons.
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For weeks, Damon had shown up every morning. Quiet. Steady. Like the sunrise. No pressure, no excuses—just presence.
Even when I ignored him.
Even when I walked past without a glance.
Even when Lucas waved and I told him not to.
He still came.
Until today.
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At first, I told myself it was a fluke.
Maybe he was sick.
Maybe something came up.
Maybe he just forgot.
But Damon didn't forget.
Not anymore.
Not since he looked me in the eye and said, "I won't disappear this time."
So why was the bench empty?
Why did it feel colder outside?
Why did I feel like something had cracked open inside me again, just as I was starting to patch it shut?
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I turned the key in the gallery door and stepped inside.
The walls were the same.
The paintings were the same.
But the air felt heavier.
Like the absence of him was somehow louder than his presence had ever been.
Which was ridiculous.
Because I didn't want him here.
Right?
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I busied myself with the brushes. Rearranged the paints. Re-stocked the journals on the front shelf.
But my hands were restless.
My eyes kept flicking toward the window.
Still nothing.
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"He gave up," I whispered, like the words might sting less if I said them out loud. "Of course he did."
Damon always gave up. That was his pattern.
He gave up on me when I was crying on the bathroom floor.
He gave up on us when I begged him with my silence.
He gave up on his son before he even knew he existed.
And now?
He'd done it again.
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A sharp ache rose in my chest.
Not anger.
Not relief.
Something in between.
Disappointment.
Why did that still hurt?
After everything… why did it still hurt?
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I locked the door earlier than usual that day.
Liam was at Miriam's again, and I didn't have the energy to paint, to smile, to pretend I wasn't unraveling.
I sat on the couch with a blanket and stared at nothing.
I told myself this was what I wanted.
Space. Peace. Quiet.
No more second chances.
No more letters.
No more lies.
But the truth?
It felt worse than I imagined.
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Because deep down… I knew it wasn't that he stopped caring.
It wasn't Damon giving up.
It was Damon letting go.
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And somehow, that hurt more.
Because I had spent the last four years building walls so high, so thick, even I forgot what was behind them.
But when he showed up—consistently, patiently—something in me cracked.
Just a little.
Enough to make room for maybe.
Maybe we could be something.
Maybe Liam could have what I never did.
Maybe Damon had changed.
But now?
Now there was nothing.
No knock.
No note.
No Damon.
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The next morning, the bench was still empty.
By the third day, I stopped opening the blinds.
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Miriam noticed the difference.
"You're quiet," she said.
"I like quiet," I replied.
"Not this kind of quiet."
I didn't answer.
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Liam asked about the "book man" again.
"Is he sick?" he asked, tugging on my sleeve.
"No," I said softly. "He's just… not coming anymore."
"Why?"
I hesitated.
Because your mom pushed him away too many times.
Because I was afraid.
Because I thought it would make me feel better.
"Because grown-ups are complicated," I said finally.
Liam blinked. "But if he was sorry, doesn't that mean he should stay?"
His innocence pierced me deeper than any cruel word ever could.
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That night, I found myself holding one of Damon's old letters.
I don't even know how it ended up in my kitchen drawer.
But there it was.
Folded neatly. Ink smudged at the corner. Smelling faintly like him.
"I know I let you go before. But I swear, Arya… I'm not walking away this time."
I stared at that line until the ink blurred.
And then I whispered to the quiet room:
"You already did."
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But what if he hadn't?
What if this wasn't him giving up… but him respecting the space I asked for?
What if, for the first time, Damon was listening?
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The idea settled like a stone in my stomach.
Because if he was finally doing the right thing…
Why did it feel like the wrong one?
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Maybe I didn't want him to keep chasing me.
But I also didn't want him to stop trying.
I wanted… I don't know what I wanted.
That was the problem.
Damon had left me before.
But this time?
I might be the one pushing him away for good.
And maybe I had a reason.
Maybe I was right to protect myself.
But that didn't mean I wouldn't lose something in the process.
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By the fifth day, I found myself walking past the lake.
I didn't expect to see him.
But part of me still looked.
Still hoped.
Still hurt.
And when he wasn't there, that same whisper crept into my bones:
"He gave up… again."
But what if… I misunderstood?
What if this time, he didn't walk away to escape?
What if he stepped back because he finally realized I needed him to?
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