<b>Chapter </b>86
MIRABELLA
The <b>tension </b>in the air <b>is </b>brewing hot <b>as </b><b>we </b><b>avoid </b>each other<b>, </b>the silence between us deafening. <b>It’s </b>been <b>days </b>since our argument, and the distance between us <b>feels </b>like an insurmountable chasm.
Another day <b>passes </b>and the <b>silence </b>still remains.
I walk down the stairs and he’s there<b>, </b>at the foot of the stairs, his mouth positioned as though he wishes to speak to me.
I don’t want to talk to him. I turn <b>back </b>around and run back into my room, locking the door behind me.
<b>It’s </b>be a routine for the both of us.
Today he’s frustrated <b>at </b>me, and tomorrow, it‘
me who’s frustrated at him.
It’s a very unhealthy way to deal with our problems, but <b>I </b>cannot bear to stand and watch myself looked down upon by a man I’ve stood by and condoned for so long.
I’ve had enough of this back and forth.
Another day <b>passes </b>and it’s still the same<b>.</b>
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Another day passes and I grow more anxious of this unending silence. Matteo creeps around me. He watches me from the shadows<b>, </b>takes care of me without actually showing his face to me; he has been a good husband through this our unending days of silence, still, I do not wish to give in so easily.
A day turns into seven, yet, the dark tension in our lives continues to grow.
And then seven days bes fourteen.
God, this is so nerve wracking.
Fuck me<b>.</b>
I wander through the empty rooms of our home, the only sound being the creaking of the wooden floorboards beneath my feet<b>.</b>
Matteo is nowhere to be found, but I know he’s avoiding me. <b>I </b>can feel it.
<b>Maybe </b>because <b>I </b>seem tosh out a lot these days. I’m like a ticking time bomb. So I can understand his need to avoid me at all costs.
<b>But </b><b>I </b>miss him.
<b>Every </b>now and then, <b>I </b>catch a glimpse of him<b>, </b>but he quickly disappears, leaving me with a pang of sadness and longing. We <b>used </b>to be inseparable, but now it feels like <b>we’re </b><b>strangers </b>living in the same house.
The kitchen, once filled with <bughter </b>and conversation<b>, </b><b>is </b>now a barrenndscape. Meals are eaten in silence<b>, </b>or <b>worse</b><b>, </b>alone. The fridge <b>is </b>stocked with food, but the hunger between <b>us </b>can’t be satisfied by mere sustenance.
<b>As </b><b>I </b>move through the <b>house</b><b>, </b>I notice <b>the </b>little things that used <i>to </i>bring us joy are now reminders <b>of </b>our estrangement. The photo on the mantle, <b>once </b><b>a </b>symbol of our <b>love</b><b>, </b><b>now </b><b>seems </b>like <b>a </b>distant memory. The <b>couch</b><b>, </b>where we used to cuddle and watch movies together<b>, </b>is now a vast <b>expanse </b>of emptiness<b>.</b>
<b>Days </b>blend <b>together </b><b>as </b><b>we </b>continue <b>to </b><b>avoid </b><b>each </b><b>other. </b>The only constants are the echoes of our footsteps and the weight of our unspoken words. <b>It’s </b><b>as </b><b>if </b><b>we’re </b>living in <b>a </b><b>state </b><b>of </b><b>suspended </b>animation, waiting for something to break the <b>spell</b>.
I sleep through an unrestful night <b>and </b>wake up to a dull and depressing morning.
Sighing<b>, </b><b>I </b>mber down the bed and <b>force </b>myself to get through the <b>activities </b>of the morning before going <b>to </b><b>see </b><b>my </b><b>kids </b>and handle my business.
When <b>my </b>time in the bathroom and then the walk in <b>closet </b><bes </b>to an end, I make my way <b>to </b>my door<b>, </b>intending <b>to </b><b>leave </b>the room and make <b>myself </b>and kids something <b>to </b><b>eat </b>for <b>breakfast</b>.
<b>I </b>pull open my door, and <b>he’s </b>standing <b>there</b><b>.</b>
Him, Matteo, my <b>husband</b>.
I <b>gasp </b>in shock and stumble <b>backwards </b>as I <b>try </b><b>to </b><b>close </b><b>back </b>the door<b>. </b>But <b>he’s </b><b>quicker and </b><b>stronger </b><b>than </b><b>I </b>am.
He holds the <b>door </b>strong, keeping me <b>from </b>shutting it in <b>his </b><b>face</b><b>.</b>
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<b>Chapter </b><b>86</b>
<b>“</b>What <b>are </b><b>you-</b>”
<b>He </b>cut <b>me </b><b>off</b><b>, </b>“I don’t <b>care </b>what you think of <b>me </b><b>or </b>of this marriage<b>, </b>and I quite frankly cannot continue to live like this in my own home<b>.”</b>
“<b>Matteo</b>…” I whisper<b>, </b>my <b>brows </b><b>creasing</b>.
“Shut up and let me finish.” He <b>growls</b><b>. </b><b>“</b>You’ve had your time and your turn to punish me<b>, </b>and I have taken your punishment like a man. <b>Now</b><b>, </b><b>we </b>need to sit and talk about the <b>way </b>out of this thing that is keeping us away from each other<b>.</b>”
I roll my <b>eyes</b><b>, </b>“and if I don’t want to talk<b>?</b><b>”</b>
“Then I will <b>force </b>you to. Meet me in my office in an hour’s time Mirabe.” He <b>says</b>, his tone holdingmand. “And don’t make mee to you myself or <b>else</b><b>, </b>it’ll get messier than I imagined it.”
“Fuck. You!”
He chuckles amusingly. “You seem to read my mind so well, wife. But you have to be patient.”
“Fuck you, <b>Matteo</b><b>!</b>” I <b>scream </b>at his retreating back.
His <b>eyes </b>meet mine from over his shoulder, his lips curving up into a smirk. “What did I say about patience, baby?”Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024.
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