I didn't know what I was feeling anymore.
Gratitude? Yes. Comfort? Probably. But beneath all of that was something heavier. Something deeper. A growing ache for closeness I wasn't supposed to crave.
And that terrified me.
Because Richard was still… Richard.
Quiet. Cold. Distant, most of the time.
But lately, something had shifted between us. Something intangible. Like the air between us had warmed just enough to make you forget it was winter.
But even warmth could burn.
A few days later, I came down to the dining room and found him already seated.
That was unusual.
Even Mira raised an eyebrow when I walked in.
He had a file open in front of him, but when he saw me, he closed it immediately.
"I thought you didn't do breakfast," I said, cautiously taking my seat.
He poured me tea. "I do. Just not with people."
I stared at him.
"And now?"
He looked at me, then back at the teapot.
"Now's different."
After breakfast, I had planned to visit my aunt. But when I reached for my phone, Richard stopped me.
"I'll come with you."
My hand froze mid-air. "What?"
"To the hospital. I'll drive."
I blinked. "You don't have to—"
"I want to."
There it was again—that unfamiliar softness. The one that made it hard to breathe.
The hospital room was filled with the quiet beeping of machines and the rustle of nurses walking by.
My aunt lay on the bed, propped up by pillows, sipping soup slowly.
When we walked in together, she blinked at Richard, then looked back at me.
"You brought him?"
"He wanted to come," I said simply.
She didn't say anything at first. Just gave a little smirk.
"Fancy husband," she mumbled. "Well, sit down then. Both of you."
Richard sat beside me, hands neatly folded in his lap.
She turned to him. "You know, I didn't think much of this marriage when I heard about it. Figured it was all business."
He didn't blink. "It was."
"But now?"
He was quiet. Then said, "It still is. But business can change."
She hummed. "Hmm. Fair answer."
The rest of our time there went normally. If only that brief moment of conversation they had before didn't happen, but Richard didn't honestly think much of it.
On the way home, the car was quiet for a long time.
Then I asked, "Why did you really come?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then, softly, "Because she matters to you. And you… you've stayed. Even when you didn't have to."
I turned to him. "That's not why people usually love."
"I know," he replied. "That's why I'm trying to understand it."
That night, as I prepared for bed, there was a knock at my door.
It was Richard.
He looked… unsure. Slightly out of place.
"I won't stay long," he said. "But there's something I need to ask."
I stepped aside. He entered.
He didn't sit. Just stood near the bookshelf, fingers tapping the edge of it.
"When you look at me," he said slowly, "what do you see?"
The question threw me off.
"I see… a man who doesn't know how to be kind, but tries anyway," I said. "I see someone who carries things alone because he doesn't know how to ask for help. Someone who's colder than he wants to be. And who maybe, deep down, doesn't want to be alone forever."
He stared at me for a long time.
Then nodded once.
"Good," he said. "Because that's what I see in you too."