His Wife, His Mistake
Chapter 11: The Day I Let Her Leave
POV: Damon (Past + Present)
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I didn't even notice she was standing there.
I didn't see the way her body froze in the doorway.
Didn't hear her breath catch.
Didn't feel the weight of her silence crushing the room.
I was too busy laughing.
Too busy letting another woman — someone who wasn't my wife — lean into me, her hand brushing my shoulder like she belonged there.
We were kissing.
We were even touching inappropriately.
But sometimes, betrayal doesn't need to be physical ,but I did worst.
Sometimes, it's the way your eyes light up for someone else when the one you promised love to is breaking in the next room.
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I only realized she had seen us when I turned to pour another drink and saw her ran behind me.
When I got home, I heard her soft whisper
"...Damon?"
Her voice was small. Fragile.
Like a string pulled too tight.
I turned.
There she was.
Hair messy from a nap.
Oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder.
No makeup. No pretense. Just her. Just Arya.
My wife.
She wasn't crying.
But her eyes — those pale and dark mismatched eyes I once swore I could stare into forever — were wide. Broken.
She didn't say another word.
She just turned around and walked out.
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I didn't follow.
I told myself she needed space.
That we'd talk later.
That I hadn't really done anything wrong.
But deep down, I knew.
I knew the damage had already been done.
I knew Arya wasn't the kind of woman who screamed or made scenes.
She was the kind who suffered in silence until she couldn't anymore.
And I let her leave.
I watched her walk out of our home barefoot, into the night, into the world — and I didn't stop her.
Because I was a coward.
Because I didn't understand the weight of her pain… until it was too late.
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Days passed. Then weeks.
I expected a call. A message. Some kind of confrontation.
But Arya never reached out.
Not to yell.
Not to cry.
Not to say goodbye.
She vanished like smoke.
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And I didn't go after her.
At first, I was too proud.
Then I was too ashamed.
By the time I realized what I'd really lost, months had gone by — and so had the version of me that she once loved.
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Four years later…
I come to her doorstep every day.
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I don't knock anymore. Not unless I see her shadow near the door.
Most mornings, I just stand there.
Holding something — flowers, a letter, a book for our son, Lucas.
Her son.
The one I didn't know about until I saw him standing beside her at that fair, looking up at me with my own eyes.
The universe couldn't have slapped me harder.
I had a son.
A son I never held, never named, never protected.
Because I was too distracted chasing something that didn't matter.
And now, every time I see Arya's cold stare — I feel it all over again.
What I lost.
What I threw away.
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Some mornings she walks right past me, holding Lucas's hand. She doesn't look at me. Doesn't speak.
Just silence.
Sharp and heavy.
Other times, she opens the door an inch and leaves the book I brought untouched.
As if accepting it would mean letting me in.
As if any kindness toward me would betray the pain she carries.
And I get it.
I do.
But God, I wish I didn't.
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People think cheating is just sex.
But for Arya, it wasn't the body — it was the heart.
It was watching me smile at someone else like I used to smile at her.
It was hearing me laugh at a joke that wasn't hers.
It was standing in the home she built with me and realizing I'd already emotionally left it.
I didn't touch that woman.
But I'd already stopped holding Arya where it counted.
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I keep replaying that moment — her in the doorway.
Barefoot. Quiet. So full of emotion and too empty to show it.
I wonder if she had been about to tell me something.
Something like, "I'm pregnant."
But instead… she swallowed it.
Took that secret and the heartbreak and walked out with both.
And now, every day, I stand on the porch of her new life — trying to find the words I should've said four years ago.
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"I'm sorry."
"I loved you."
"I failed you."
"I want to be the man you deserved."
But the words won't fix anything.
They're too late.
She doesn't trust me.
And honestly? I don't blame her.
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Lucas is growing fast.
Every time I catch a glimpse of him through the gallery window, he looks older. Smarter. Stronger.
I missed his first step. His first word. His first fever.
I missed the nights he cried and needed to be held.
I missed being his father.
And all the chocolates, picture books, and sad letters in the world won't make up for that.
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But I keep coming.
Not because I expect forgiveness…
But because she deserves to see that I'm not running anymore.
That the man who stood frozen while she walked out four years ago is gone.
This man?
He's here now.
Even if all she gives me is the cold side of the door.
Even if I stand here until winter comes again.
Even if her silence stays forever.
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Because the biggest mistake of my life wasn't that night in the living room.
It was the moment I didn't chase her.
The moment I let Arya — the only woman who ever saw all of me — walk away carrying everything that mattered.