The days that followed their fragile honeymoon of laughter and wildflowers felt almost unreal. Adriella moved through them with a lightness she hadn't known in years, as though life had finally stopped demanding grief and allowed her space to breathe.
Daniel had a way of weaving joy into the ordinary. He made her laugh while they grocery shopped, turned mundane walks into small adventures, and filled her silence with warmth rather than pressure. With him, Adriella felt something both exhilarating and terrifying: safe.
But safety, she had learned, was fragile.
One Thursday afternoon, she found herself waiting outside Daniel's office building. He had forgotten his phone at her place, and she decided to surprise him by bringing it. The city streets were buzzing with their usual chaos — car horns, rushing feet, snippets of conversations — but her heart felt steady. She clutched his phone in her hand, imagining the smile on his face when he saw her.
Then she froze.
Across the street, near the entrance of his office, Daniel was standing with a woman. She was tall, poised, beautiful in a way that made Adriella's stomach knot. They were talking closely, the woman's hand brushing Daniel's arm as she laughed.
Adriella's breath caught. She wanted to walk forward, to greet them, but her legs refused to move. Instead, she stood rooted in place, invisible among the crowd.
A sharp whisper unfurled in her mind: See? You were foolish to believe this could last. Men always leave. You're never enough.
By the time Daniel spotted her and waved, Adriella had already turned away. She walked quickly, the phone still clutched in her trembling hand, her vision blurred by tears she refused to let fall in public.
Later that evening, Daniel showed up at her apartment, confusion etched across his face. "Why didn't you come over earlier? I saw you—" He paused when he noticed her expression. "Adriella, what's wrong?"
She swallowed hard. "Who was she?"
Daniel blinked, taken aback. "She?"
"The woman outside your office. The one laughing with you. The one who touched your arm like she knew she could."
For a moment, silence hung heavy between them. Then Daniel sighed softly. "That's Mariah. She's on my team at work. We were discussing a project deadline. That's all."
Adriella's chest tightened, the old fear gnawing at her ribs. "Do you expect me to just believe that?"
His eyes softened, though there was hurt there too. "Yes, because it's the truth. Adriella, I've given you no reason to doubt me."
Her voice cracked. "I've been here before, Daniel. Smiling. Believing. And then one day, it all shattered. I can't—" Her hands shook as she pressed them against her chest. "I can't go through that again."
Daniel stepped closer, but not too close, respecting the storm raging in her eyes. "I know you're scared. I know your past left scars. But I'm not him. I need you to see me — not the ghosts of who hurt you."
Tears slipped down Adriella's cheeks, hot and relentless. "What if I can't? What if I never stop waiting for the moment you'll leave?"
Daniel's jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady. "Then we'll face that fear together. Every single time it shows up, we'll face it. But you can't keep punishing me for someone else's mistakes."
His words sliced through her defenses, not in cruelty but in truth. Adriella turned away, burying her face in her hands. The battle within her raged: the part that longed to believe him, to fall fully into the love he offered, and the part that screamed she was a fool for even trying.
They sat in silence for a long time, the only sound her uneven breathing. Finally, Daniel spoke again, softer this time.
"Do you want me to leave tonight?"
Adriella's heart clenched. She shook her head, voice barely a whisper. "No. I don't."
Daniel exhaled, relief flickering in his eyes. He stepped forward slowly, lifting her chin so their eyes met. "Then let me prove to you, every day, that I'm not going anywhere. But Adriella… you have to let me."
Her tears spilled over again, but this time she didn't pull away. She leaned into his touch, trembling but present. "I'm trying," she whispered.
"I know." His thumb brushed her cheek tenderly. "And that's enough for now."
That night, Adriella lay in bed beside him, staring at the ceiling as Daniel slept. The shadows of doubt still lingered, but they no longer screamed. They whispered, softer now, almost uncertain themselves.
She reached for Daniel's hand under the blanket, intertwining their fingers carefully, as though making a promise to herself.
Maybe she wasn't healed yet. Maybe fear would come knocking again. But for the first time, she realized healing wasn't about never being afraid — it was about choosing love even when fear tried to drag her backward.
And as she closed her eyes, holding onto his hand like an anchor, she whispered into the dark:
"I'll try again tomorrow."