SEBASTIAN’S POV
I sat in the dimly lit study, the weight of my solitude pressing down like a vice.
The mansion, once alive with Sasha’s laughter, now echoed with a deafening silence.
My phone lay on the desk before me, lifeless and cold, a reminder of the calls I hadn’t made and the ones I longed to receive.
Roland’s departure lingered in my mind. He had been understanding, almost too understanding, as if he could see the storm brewing inside me.
“Sebastian, you’ve been dealing with a lot. Don’t worry about me,” he had said, his tone light, though his eyes betrayed concern.
“But if you need anything, just call me.”
Those words should have brought me comfort. Instead, they added to the hollowness. I had let so many people down, but none more than Sasha.
I ran a hand through my hair, the tension coiling tighter with each passing second.
The plan to remarry Sasha, my chance to right my wrongs, to prove to her that I could be the man she deserved, had crumbled faster than I could piece it together. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
She had been adamant, her refusal like a dagger to the heart. Every attempt to reach her had been met with cold resistance, her voice devoid of the warmth I once took for granted.
She didn’t want to see me. She didn’t want to hear my apologies.
I pushed back my chair and stood, pacing the room. The walls felt as though they were closing in, the silence amplifies every thought, every regret.
My gaze drifted to the framed photo on the mantle, Sasha, her smile radiant, her eyes sparkling with a happiness I hadn’t seen in far too long. I had to fix this.
The drive to Sasha’s apartment was torturous. Every mile felt like a test of my resolve.
When I finally arrived, I parked across the street and sat there, staring at the building. It was late, the lights in her windows dimmed, but I knew she was home.
I had been here before, too many times to count, only to leave without going inside. Tonight had to be different.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the car and crossed the street. My heart pounded as I reached her door.
For a moment, I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorbell. What if she didn’t answer? Or worse,
What if she did?
I pressed the button, the sound of the chime echoing inside.
There was a long pause before the door opened a crack, the chain still latched. Sasha stood there, her expression guarded.
She didn’t say anything, just looked at me, her eyes colder than I’d ever seen them.
“Sasha,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper. “Please, can we talk?”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Sebastian.” Her tone was flat, devoid of emotion.
“Just five minutes,” I pleaded. “That’s all I’m asking for.”
She sighed, her grip on the door tightening. “You’ve already had more than enough chances to explain yourself.”
“I know I messed up,” I said quickly, my words tumbling out in desperation.
“I know I hurt you, and I can’t take that back. But I can’t let this end like this. I can’t let it end like this.”
She hesitated, her eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite place, anger, pain, maybe even a hint of longing. But then she shook her head and closed the door without another word.
I leaned against the door, the cold metal pressing into my forehead. Defeated, I turned and walked back to the car.
The night air was crisp, biting against my skin, but it did little to numb the ache in my chest.
Back at the mansion, the emptiness seemed even more oppressive.
I wandered from room to room, each one a stark reminder of what I had lost. The dining room, where we had shared countless meals.
The living room, where her laughter had once filled the air. Our bedroom, now just a hollow shell of what it used to be.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, my head in my hands. Memories of Sasha flooded my mind, her smile, her touch, the way she used to look at me as if I were her entire world. How had I let things get so bad?
I reached for my phone, scrolling through our old messages. Each one was a dagger, a reminder of the love we once had. I wanted to call her, to hear her voice, but I knew she wouldn’t answer.
Instead, I opened a blank text and started typing.
I’m sorry, Sasha. I know words aren’t enough, but I don’t know what else to do. I miss you. I need you. Please, just tell me how to fix this.
I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the send button. But then I deleted the message. She deserved more than an apology over text.
The next morning, I made my way to her favorite cafe. I knew it was a long shot, but I needed to see her. I sat by the window, nursing a cup of coffee as I watched the door, hoping she would walk in.
Hours passed, and she never came.
Defeated, I left and wandered through the city, my thoughts a whirlwind of regret and determination. I couldn’t give up, not yet.
By the time I returned to the mansion, it was late, and exhaustion weighed heavily on me.
But sleep was out of the question. I spent the night drafting letters, each one an attempt to put my feelings into words. None of them felt right.
The sun was just beginning to rise when I decided to visit her father. He had always been a pillar of wisdom, someone who could see through my faults and offer guidance.
At the hospital, I sat by his bedside, the steady beeping of the monitors the only sound in the room. “Mr. K,” I began, my voice thick with emotion.
“I’ve failed her. I’ve failed both of you. But I love her more than anything, and I need to make this right. Please, tell me what to do.”
Of course, there was no answer. He remained unconscious, his face serene as if in a deep sleep.
But somehow, sitting there brought me a sense of clarity.
I needed to fight for Sasha, not with grand gestures or empty promises, but with patience and consistency.
She needed to see that I was willing to do whatever it took to earn her trust again.
Over the next few days, I threw myself into small acts of redemption. I sent flowers to her apartment, not with notes of apology but with messages of encouragement.
You’re stronger than you realize. I believe in you. Take all the time you need.
I volunteered at the shelter she used to love, hoping to remind her of the man she once fell in love with.
I even reached out to her closest friends, asking them to look out for her, to let her know I was here whenever she was ready.
But still, there was no response.
One night, as I sat in the study, I received a call from Roland. “Sebastian,” he said, his tone firm, “you can’t keep punishing yourself like this.”
“I don’t know what else to do,” I admitted.
“Give her time,” he advised. “And give yourself time too. You can’t rush this.”
His words were a bitter pill to swallow, but he was right. Sasha needed space, and I needed to respect that.
As the days turned into weeks, the silence grew heavier, but I held on to hope. Sasha was worth the wait. She always had been.
Late one evening, as I stood by the window, staring out at the city lights, my phone buzzed with a message. My heart leapt as I saw her name on the screen.
We need to talk.
It wasn’t an invitation for reconciliation, but it was a start. And I wasn’t going to waste it.