Hubby; I No Have Courage

Repeated miscarriages had slowly fractured the bond between Ellea and her husband, Jonathan. Not because their love had faded, but because some wounds never heal—wounds that turn every word of comfort into something hollow, even revolting. The cracks reached their breaking point when Ellea began to lose herself. She would vanish without a trace, stare into nothing as if her life no longer had room for hope. Jonathan watched it all unfold, helpless, unsure how to save her—until exhaustion finally swallowed him whole. Then came that night. A thin drizzle fell, dampening the quiet city streets. Jonathan found her wandering alone down a narrow alley—her steps unsteady, her eyes empty, as though her body moved without a soul. Fear, anger, and anxiety collided within him. The argument erupted. Their voices bounced off the cold brick walls. Accusations, grief, and years of weariness burst free in an instant. And then Jonathan spoke the words that would haunt him forever. “This is the end.” He turned away, leaving Ellea standing beneath the dim streetlamp. Even as her voice—hoarse, pleading, trembling—chased after him, he kept walking. He didn’t know that only minutes after he left, fate would move in a direction that could never be reversed. And in the years to come, he would carry one regret: If only he hadn’t left her alone that night.