Pain has a way of speaking when the heart has learned to stay silent.
For Aurelia Seraphine Vale, it began as a dull ache behind her ribs.
Something she could ignore.
Something she told herself would pass if she rested long enough.
But days turned into weeks, and rest never seemed to be enough.
She began waking up exhausted.
Her hands shook when she held a cup of tea.
Climbing the stairs left her breathless.
There were mornings when the world spun slightly, forcing her to sit down before she could even begin the day.
Still, she said nothing.
Kaelric never noticed.
Or perhaps he did, and chose not to.
The night she collapsed happened quietly.
Aurelia had just finished setting the table. Dinner, as usual, went untouched.
Kaelric had sent a short message hours earlier.
Won't be home.
She nodded to herself when she read it, as if he could see her acceptance through the screen.
As she turned away from the table, a sharp pain tore through her chest.
Her vision blurred.
The room tilted violently, and then the floor rushed up to meet her.
When she woke, the lights above her were unfamiliar.
White.
Too bright.
The sound of machines filled the room, steady and unforgiving.
Aurelia turned her head slowly and found Kaelric standing near the door, his expression tense, unreadable.
He looked out of place, like a man who had walked into a life he didn't recognize.
"You fainted," he said flatly.
"I'm sorry," she replied without thinking.
The words surprised even her.
His jaw tightened.
"Don't apologize for things you can't control," he said, almost irritated.
A doctor entered soon after, flipping through a chart.
He spoke carefully, professionally.
Tests would need to be done.
Observation was necessary.
It could be serious.
Kaelric listened in silence.
When they were alone again, Aurelia stared at the ceiling.
"You don't have to stay," she said.
He looked at her sharply.
"I'm not doing this because I care," he replied.
"Don't misunderstand."
She nodded.
"I won't."
But something had shifted.
The diagnosis did not come immediately.
Days passed in a blur of hospital corridors and hushed conversations.
Aurelia endured needle pricks and examinations with quiet composure.
She smiled politely.
She thanked the nurses.
Inside, fear grew slowly, like a shadow she refused to name.
Kaelric visited inconsistently.
Sometimes he came late, checking his phone more than her face.
Other times, he stayed longer than necessary, sitting stiffly in the chair beside her bed.
Neither of them spoke about what was happening between them.
One afternoon, Aurelia caught him watching her.
The moment their eyes met, he looked away.
"Why are you staring?" she asked gently.
"You look thinner," he said.
It wasn't concern.
But it wasn't cruelty either.
"I've been busy," she replied.
He scoffed lightly. "You always are."
That night, alone in her hospital bed, Aurelia finally allowed herself to think the thought she had been avoiding.
What if I don't get better?
The idea settled heavily in her chest.
She imagined the house without her.
The empty chair.
The meals she cooked that no one ate.
And strangely, she felt relief.
Maybe my absence would be easier for him.
Aurelia:
I am tired of proving I exist.
My body is failing because my heart has been holding too much for too long.
If I leave this world quietly,
I wonder if anyone will notice the silence I leave behind.