He stood there, in front of me, like a man on trial, the weight of guilt heavy in his eyes.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air was thick, almost suffocating, filled with everything we never said and everything we lost in between.
Then, quietly, he began.
"She's no one to me, Aurora. You have to believe that."
I said nothing.
My silence was a wall I built to protect what little was left of me.
"She came that morning," he continued, his tone low, his jaw tight. "An ex. Years ago. Before you, before everything. She wanted something I wasn't willing to give."
I scoffed, turning my head toward the window. "And that something required her to be naked in your living room?"
He flinched at my tone. "She was drunk. High, maybe. She barged in. I told her to leave, but she said she'd scream if I touched her. That she'd call the press, accuse me of assault. You know how fast stories spread in our world. One word, and my name, our family name, would've been destroyed."
I finally looked at him. His eyes were wet, red from sleepless nights. "So, what, you let her stay? Let her humiliate me?"
"I didn't have time to make her leave," he said. "You came before I could do anything. I tried to call after you, but you wouldn't listen. You just left."
I laughed bitterly. "What was I supposed to do, Calix? Wait there until you could fix your little scandal?"
"No." His voice broke, desperate. "You were supposed to let me explain."
I pressed my lips together.
My fingers trembled over the sheets, gripping the blanket tighter. "Do you know what it felt like, seeing her there? After everything I went through? After finally letting someone in? I thought maybe… maybe this time would be different. That you were different."
He took another hesitant step closer. "I am different. Aurora, I've never cared about anyone the way I care about you."
"Don't," I said, but my voice wasn't cold anymore. It was tired. Wounded. "Don't say things you don't mean."
"I mean every word."
He came closer, until he was standing beside my bed, and for the first time since that day, I didn't pull away.
"You changed me," he said softly. "You made me want to be better. For once, I didn't want the parties, or the women, or the chaos. I just wanted to be enough for you."
I looked up at him, my heart betraying me. "Then why does it hurt so much?"
"Because love always does," he whispered.
Silence.
Just breathing, shallow and uneven, between two people who'd broken each other without meaning to.
He sat down in the chair beside me. "I didn't touch her, Aurora. Not a single time. You have to believe me."
I studied him. Every word, every shift in his expression.
I'd been raised around liars, men who smiled while hiding knives behind their backs.
But Calix… his voice didn't sound like deceit.
It sounded like regret.
Like truth.
And that terrified me.
I swallowed hard. "Even if what you're saying is true… it doesn't change what I felt. What I saw. What it did to me."
"I know," he said quietly. "And I'll spend every day proving to you that it wasn't what it looked like."
I looked away again, blinking the tears I didn't want him to see. "You can't fix trust once it's broken."
"I can try."
That one sentence hit me harder than I wanted to admit.
For a long moment, I didn't speak.
The only sound was the quiet hum of the hospital machines, the slow rhythm of my own heartbeat reminding me that, somehow, I was still alive after all of this.
When I finally found my voice, it came out small. "I don't know if I can do this again."
He leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper. "Then don't decide now. Just… let me stay. Let me be here. Even if you hate me."
I looked at him, really looked at him and saw not the man who hurt me, but the man who stayed when everyone else walked away.
And maybe that was enough for now.
I sighed, shifting slightly against the pillows. "Fine. Sit. But don't talk."
A small, almost broken smile crossed his lips. "Yes, ma'am."
And for the first time in days, the silence didn't feel empty.
It felt like the beginning of something fragile trying to heal.