Alice (POV)
I was disheartened in a way I had never experienced before.
Not loudly broken. Not dramatically shattered. Just… quietly undone.
Adam's father didn't like me. Not openly, not with harsh words—but with something far worse. Indifference. He ignored me as if I didn't exist, as if my presence carried no meaning. And that hurt more than rejection ever could.
Because in that silence, my dream collapsed.
The dream of becoming Adam's wife.
I love Adam more than I ever thought I could love another human being. He makes me feel complete—seen, respected, valued. With him, I am not small. I am not invisible. I believe in him with a faith that feels unshakeable, and somewhere deep inside me, I still believed he could convince his father.
I believed love could soften even the hardest hearts.
And I believed in myself too.
I told myself I would earn his father's trust—not with money, not with status, not with connections—but with sincerity, patience, and respect. I was ready to wait. I was ready to prove myself.
But fate had other plans.
When Adam went to talk to his father, I was asleep—or pretending to be. My body was tired, but my heart refused to rest. After some time, I woke up with a strange heaviness in my chest, a feeling that something was wrong.
I decided to go find him.
I wanted to stand beside him, no matter what.
But when I reached there, everything changed.
The sight of his father coughing blood.
The doctor's face.
The panic in the room.
In that moment, reality struck me harder than any insult ever had.
This wasn't about acceptance anymore.
This was about death.
Adam's father was dying.
And suddenly, my dreams felt small in comparison.
My love for Adam didn't disappear—but it transformed. It became quieter, heavier, more responsible. I understood something with painful clarity: my wish was not bigger than a dying man's last desire.
I could not be the reason Adam lived the rest of his life with regret.
Love should never demand cruelty.
So I made a decision.
Not impulsively.
Not emotionally.
But consciously.
I decided I would not become a hurdle in Adam's father's final wish.
When Adam returned to the room later and lay down beside me, I pretended to sleep. I didn't trust myself to speak. If I opened my mouth, I might have begged him to choose me—and that would have been unfair.
But then I heard him cry.
A grown man.
Broken.
Helpless.
The sound shattered every wall I had built. I turned toward him and wrapped my arms around him, holding him tightly, the way you hold someone who is falling apart.
I didn't ask questions.
I didn't blame him.
I didn't demand answers.
I just held him.
Later, when I asked him to make love to me, it wasn't desperation.
It was acceptance.
I wasn't doing it to trap him.
I wasn't doing it to guilt him.
I wasn't doing it to claim ownership.
I had already decided to let him go.
I wanted to become one with him—not to bind him, but to complete my love for him. I wanted him to be my first, my only, my forever—even if forever ended that night.
I wanted to give him peace, not pain.
And he didn't take from me.
We chose each other.
When morning came, I didn't cry.
I woke up before him and dressed slowly, carefully, as if each movement was a goodbye. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a woman who had loved deeply and honestly—and that was enough.
When Adam woke up and looked at me, panic filled his eyes instantly. He always read me well. Always understood my silence before my words.
He came toward me quickly, pulling me into his arms, caging me against his chest as if his body alone could stop my decision.
"No," he whispered. "Don't do this."
I freed myself gently from his embrace.
Not because I didn't want to stay—but because I loved him too much to remain.
I handed him a letter.
"Promise me," I said softly, "you'll open this only after I'm gone."
He looked at me, broken, powerless. He knew. He knew nothing could stop me now. He knew this was the one decision I would never compromise on.
I kissed his forehead.
"I love you," I said. "Enough to let you go."
And then I walked away.
This time… it wasn't like before.
This time, it was forever.
The Letter
Adam,
If you're reading this, it means I kept my promise and left before my courage failed me.
Please don't hate yourself. And don't hate your father. Love is complicated, and sometimes it asks us to sacrifice the very thing we cherish most.
You taught me that I am strong. That I am worthy. That I deserve love without conditions. Because of you, I will never again believe that I am small.
I was never your weakness.
I was your love.
And you were mine.
Live your life without regret. Smile when you think of me. And know that somewhere in this world, I am grateful—because I was truly happy.
Cont....