Selin
He slept for the rest of the day.
He didn't move.
Didn't ask for water.
Didn't say a word after I finished bandaging his hand and whispered his name like a prayer.
He just closed his eyes and stayed still—like the world had already ended.
And maybe, for him, it had.
I didn't leave the house.
I couldn't.
I hovered between the hallway and the kitchen, arms wrapped around myself, walking circles around a truth I didn't know how to carry anymore.
Nilay found me in the guest room.
She didn't say much.
Just sat down on the edge of the bed like she knew I wouldn't run this time.
Her voice was soft. "Is he okay?"
I nodded.
She didn't ask if I was lying.
Didn't ask why his hand was torn open and his eyes hollow.
Instead, she asked me the one question I wasn't ready for.
"Are you okay?"
And something inside me cracked open.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just… broke.
I shook my head.
And for the first time since this all started, I told the truth.
"My cancer's worse," I whispered.
Nilay stilled. Her breath caught, but she didn't speak.
"I haven't told him. I don't know how." I blinked, vision blurring. "The treatments worked for a while. But it's not going away. It's spreading. Slowly, but enough that I feel it. I know what's coming."
She reached for my hand. Held it tightly.
I kept going. "I can still carry. The doctors said it's possible. But it's not likely. The odds are low. And I… I don't know how much time I have."
I looked at her then.
And for the first time, I didn't try to hide.
"I wanted a baby at first because I wanted to be a mom. That was it. That was the whole reason."
Nilay's eyes softened, but she didn't interrupt.
"But these past few months… I started thinking about him more than me. I started wondering what it would be like if he had something—someone—that came from me. Something he could hold when I'm gone. Something that stayed."
My throat closed around the last words, but I forced them out.
"I thought… if I couldn't live, maybe I could still give him a piece of me. Something he could love that wouldn't leave."
Nilay's eyes glistened. But she held herself still. Present. Grounded. The way she always did when someone else was falling apart.
"I love him," I admitted. "More than I've ever said. More than I thought I could."
And then I whispered the part that hurt the most.
"He told me he loved me last night. And I walked away."
She closed her eyes.
"I didn't want to break him," I whispered. "But I did anyway."
The room was quiet for a long time.
Then Nilay stood. Gently. Slowly. Like she was giving me time to breathe.
She didn't offer false hope.
She didn't say everything will be okay or he'll understand.
She just squeezed my hand again and said:
"Then it's time to stop trying to protect him by hiding from him."
And left the room.
Alekos
The sun had dipped by the time I collapsed onto the broken bench near the court.
I couldn't run anymore.
Didn't want to.
My legs were jelly. My throat burned. My lungs were still catching up.
The sky was bruising into night.
I just sat there.
Sweat clinging to my skin. Hands clenched in my lap.
Bandaged one throbbing. The other twitching with the need to do something. Anything.
I leaned forward, elbows on knees, and stared at the ground.
I'd come out here to burn it off—to outrun the heat in my chest, the ache in my bones.
But it found me anyway.
The silence.
The what-ifs.
The why the hell did you tell her you loved her like that replaying over and over until it carved me hollow.
She didn't say it back.
She left.
She left, and then acted like nothing happened.
And I hated how much that gutted me.
I didn't know how long I sat there.
Maybe an hour.
Maybe three.
Then I heard footsteps.
Soft. Familiar.
I didn't look up.
Didn't need to.
"Ale," my mom said gently.
Of course she found me.
She always did.
I let out a breath. "I'm fine."
It was a lie. She knew it. I knew it.
I felt her sit beside me.
But she didn't push.
Didn't ask questions.
Didn't give advice.
Didn't tell me to get over it or be patient or try harder.
She just… stayed.
For a while.
And that was worse somehow.
Because the longer she stayed quiet, the more my chest screamed for answers.
But then—
She stood up.
I looked at her.
She looked back.
Eyes tired. Soft. But unreadable.
"Come home when you're ready," she said gently. "But don't take too long."
I opened my mouth—maybe to ask why she came, or why she wasn't telling me what she wasn't saying—but I closed it again.
She walked off before I could change my mind.
Didn't look back.
Didn't give me a reason.
She just… left.
Nilay
I wanted to tell him.
God, I wanted to. The truth was sitting at the edge of my throat the entire time I watched him fall apart.
But the truth isn't a plaster.
It's a blade.
And I've spent enough years watching people bleed from love.
He needed to hear it from her.
Not from me.
He needed to choose her, even after the pain. Even after the silence.
So I walked.
Back through the cracked streets.
Back to the house where the lights were dim and the air still thick.
Selin was curled up on the couch when I stepped in.
She looked at me like she expected me to be mad. Or disappointed. Or devastated.
I was all of those things.
But I was also done interfering.
"He's okay," I said simply.
She nodded, trying not to cry again.
"I didn't tell him."
Her eyes snapped to mine.
"I can't fix what's broken between you two, Selin," I said. "That's yours to mend."
And with that, I grabbed my coat from the hook, slid into my shoes, and whispered, "Call me if you need anything."
Selin stood up like she wanted to stop me—but she didn't.
She let me go.
Because deep down, she knew—
This wasn't about me anymore.
Alekos
The house was too quiet when I walked back in.
No lights in the hallway.
No scent of my mom's coffee. No footsteps.
Just the air.
Still thick.
Still suffocating.
I walked past the living room without looking at her.
But I knew she was there.
She always was.
I stopped outside the nursery. The door was cracked open. The golden mobile still spun from the open window. The little baby blanket she folded over the crib had a sun embroidered in the corner.
I almost laughed.
It felt cruel—how something so small, so hopeful, could sit untouched while everything else inside me was unraveling.
I kept walking.
But her voice stopped me before I hit the stairs.
"Alekos."
I froze.
She stood behind me, arms crossed. Not out of confidence—out of protection. Her voice was careful. Too careful.
"Can we please talk?"
I didn't turn around.
Talk?" I said. "Now you want to talk?"
"Yes," she said quietly. "I never stopped wanting to."
I turned. And I cracked.
"Could've fooled me."
She blinked. "Ale—"
"No," I snapped. "You don't get to say my name like that. Not after you left me there bleeding and walked away like nothing happened."
Her shoulders stiffened. "I stitched your hand. I didn't leave."
"You did. When I told you I loved you and you walked out like I just said I had to go grocery shopping."
Selin stepped closer. "You don't understand—"
"You're right. I don't. Because I was stupid enough to think this meant something to you."
She flinched.
Selin
"Why did you ask me to have a kid with you, Selin? Just tell me the truth. Why?"
I swallowed.
This was the moment I could've said it.
Could've told him I was dying.
That I didn't want him to grieve me with empty hands.
But the words stuck.
So instead, I gave him a truth that was only half the story.
"Because of my cancer," I said. "Because I don't know how much time I have to—"
"But you're okay!" he snapped. "The doctors said the treatment's working. You're still able to get pregnant. They said you'd be okay!"
My lips parted.
But I didn't say anything.
Because he needed to believe that.
And I needed him not to know he was wrong.
"You wanted a baby before you ran out the clock?" he asked, voice cracking. "That's what this is?"
"No," I whispered. "That's not what I meant."
"You wanted a kid to replace you, didn't you?" His voice rose. "To give me something to hold when you're not around anymore."
"I—"
"You used me. For something you wanted."
"Alekos—"
"You're selfish."
That word hit like a slap.
I stepped back, breath caught in my throat.
"You don't mean that," I said quietly.
"Don't I?" he hissed. "Because it feels like I'm just a fucking body to you. A walking contract. A way to give you something you want before you disappear."
I didn't say anything.
Because I was going to disappear.
Just not yet.
And I couldn't tell him.
I couldn't make him watch it happen.
So I stood there. Silent.
He shook his head, hands on his hips like he was trying to stop himself from breaking.
"You'll be fine," he said harshly, like if he said it enough, it would be true. "The doctors all said you'll be okay."
My hands trembled.
I wanted to say, I wish that were true.
I wanted to scream, It's not.
But I just stood there.
Still.
Then he turned for the last time—voice cold, detached, final.
"I wish I never agreed to impregnate you."
The door slammed.
And I crumbled.
Right there on the tile floor.
The one person I did this for now hated me.
And even though my hands clutched my chest like I could hold myself together
Inside, I had already begun to disappear.
Maybe I truly am selfish.
I woke up on the floor of the baby room.
The crib was still half-finished. My blanket was balled up near my feet. A pillow was beneath my head, though I didn't remember putting it there.
Afternoon sun spilled across the rug.
Alekos was gone.
The silence told me he'd been gone for hours. Maybe since morning. Maybe even before dawn.
I didn't know where he was.
I didn't ask.
Instead, I did what I could to waste time.
I scrubbed the kitchen till the tile looked sterile. Organized every single bottle in my pill cabinet alphabetically. Folded blankets I hadn't touched in weeks. Cleared out weeds from the garden—hands raw, skin hot, arms shaking.
It was only when I sat down to breathe that I noticed the swing set.
The old one.
Still slightly rusted. Still standing.
It was under that tree he first asked if we should try naturally.
Back when we still laughed. Still teased. Still had hope.
Now?
Even that felt like a lie.
The sun was low when I walked back inside, sweat clinging to my neck, dirt still under my fingernails. I was too exhausted to feel anything.
Until I saw him.
Alekos.
Standing in the kitchen, shirtless, eating cold leftovers straight from the container.
For one second—just one—I thought maybe things were okay. Maybe I could apologize. Maybe I could ask about his hand. About us.
I opened my mouth.
But he spoke first.
"It's the seventh day," he said, not looking at me. "Be ready."
My throat dried.
"Ale… you don't have to—"
"The faster you get pregnant," he interrupted, "the faster I can leave."
That hit harder than anything he said the night before.
But I didn't cry.
Not this time.
I just nodded and whispered, "I'll take a shower."
He didn't respond.
I walked to the bathroom.
Closed the door.
Let the water run.
And the moment I stepped under the spray, I finally let myself breathe.
But not for long.
Because halfway through rinsing the dirt from my arms, I heard the door open behind me.
I turned around, startled.
He stood there.
Alekos.
Eyes dull. Expression blank.
A bottle of whiskey in one hand.
Still wet from the garden, I didn't say a word.
He didn't either.
He just leaned against the sink, unscrewed the cap, and took a long sip.
"Alekos, I'll be out in a seco—"
"Shut up," he said.
It wasn't a yell.
It wasn't even sharp.
It was wounded.
Heavy with exhaustion. With something neither of us had the strength to name.
I turned halfway, mouth parting to say something, to ask if he was okay—
"Don't," he added, stripping the rest of his clothes. "Don't say anything."
He stepped in.
Steam wrapped around us both.
He didn't touch me at first—just stood behind me. Breathing hard. Like he'd fought the decision to come in here and lost.
When his hands finally came to my waist, I didn't stop him.
I didn't want to.
Even if this version of him was colder. Distant. Breaking.
Even if I knew I was the reason.
He turned me around until my front faced the wall. My breath caught.
I felt the heat of his body behind mine. The whiskey on his breath. The ache in my chest.
"Alekos…" I whispered, almost without thinking.
"I said don't talk," he muttered—roughly. Quietly. Like hearing my voice made it harder to stay mad.
And then he was inside me.
I gasped—not from pain, not from surprise—but because it felt different.
Urgent.
Empty and full at once.
His grip was firm but not cruel. His movements fast, like he was chasing a feeling he'd lost.
I held onto the tile and swallowed my cries, letting him move, letting the sound of water hide everything we weren't saying.
He yanked my hair once—not hard. Just enough to remind me he was still here, still burning.
But when I whispered his name again, he didn't respond.
Didn't look at me.
Didn't want to look at me.
Because if he did, he'd see the tears.
And maybe worse—he'd let himself cry too.
When he finally finished, he stayed close for one breath… then stepped back.
Letting go of everything.
Including me.
The glass door slid shut behind him.
And I stayed there, forehead against the wall, water running down my back, until I couldn't tell where
Alekos
The bathroom door clicked shut behind me.
I didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't even look at her.
I just walked out, dripping water and shame down the hallway like filth I couldn't scrub off.
God.
What the hell did I just do?
I leaned against the wall outside her room, chest heaving, my hands still trembling from the feel of her skin.
She didn't stop me.
She didn't say no.
But she didn't say yes either—not really.
She just… let me.
And that was almost worse.
Because I knew her.
I knew when her silence meant safety and when it meant surrender.
And this?
This was surrender.
And I took it.
I took her.
Like it would fix something.
Like it would make her stay.
Like it wouldn't haunt me after.
I pushed off the wall and stumbled into my room, still half-soaked, still breathing too hard.
There was water on the floor, on my chest, on the goddamn bottle of whiskey I'd left on the sink like a statement.
What was I doing?
I sank to the floor, back against the dresser, hands running down my face until they tangled in my hair.
"Shut up," I'd told her.
Twice.
I closed my eyes, and there she was—turned away, pressed to the wall, quiet.
Too quiet.
Like she was trying not to break while I already had.
A violent wave of nausea rolled through me. I wanted to scream. Punch something. Peel my own skin off.
Instead, I just whispered it aloud, into the dim room, the space still humming from the steam.
"I'm so fucking sorry."
But she wasn't here to hear it.
And even if she was—I didn't know if it would've mattered.
I stayed on the floor.
Minutes passed.
Maybe hours.
I didn't know.
The only sound was the quiet drip of water from my hair, hitting the hardwood floor like a goddamn metronome for my guilt.
I'd hurt her.
Not physically.
But emotionally—deeply.
And worse?
I think she let me because she thought she deserved it.
I rubbed my face with both hands, dragging my palms down hard like I could erase everything I'd just done.
She'd looked at me before I walked out.
Not with anger.
Not even confusion.
Just… this broken softness. Like she still loved me, and it hurt.
I used to worship her body.
Now I used it like a weapon.
My stomach turned.
I stumbled to the bathroom connected to my room and threw up. Whiskey and regret and whatever was left of my pride burned its way out of me.
I collapsed over the sink, gripping the porcelain until my knuckles turned white.
Water.
I splashed it over my face.
Then again.
And again.
It didn't help.
Her silence haunted me.
So did my own words.
"Shut up."
"Don't talk."
I hated myself.
What the hell was I doing?
She was dying.
And I was acting like I was the only one breaking.
The thing is—I knew something was wrong.
The way she looked at me last night.
The way she hesitated before walking out.
The way her voice shook when she said she still wanted the baby.
I knew.
And still, I chose cruelty over courage.
And now?
I didn't know how to fix it.
I walked into the hallway, stood outside her door, and almost knocked.
Almost.
But I didn't.
Because if I saw her again, if I looked her in the eyes… I might fall to my knees and beg.
And I didn't deserve to be forgiven.
Not yet.
Not after that.
So I went back to my room.
And let the silence eat me alive.
Selin
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
I hadn't realized how used to his footsteps I'd gotten. The cabinets slamming. The clink of his glass. The sounds of him trying to exist in the same house without being near me.
Now there was nothing.
The clock read 11:42 AM. I hadn't even meant to sleep that long.
The baby room was bathed in soft light, but there were no cries, no laughter. Just me. And walls I kept pretending meant something more than wishful thinking.
I got up slowly. My body ached. Not from illness. Not from weakness. But from him.
From the night before.
From everything we didn't say and everything we did.
I walked barefoot down the hall, eyes instinctively flicking toward his bedroom. The door was wide open.
He never left it open.
Not once.
I paused at the threshold, the floor cold under my feet. I told myself I wouldn't step in. That it wasn't my place.
But I did.
I crossed into his space like it belonged to both of us.
Like we hadn't ruined that idea last night.
His bed was unmade, blankets pushed to the edge like he'd slept restlessly—or not at all. The window was cracked, letting in a breeze that made the whole room feel colder than it should've.
I stepped further in.
The bathroom light was off, but the floor was still wet.
He showered before leaving. Early. Without a word.
Typical Alekos move. When it hurt too much to speak, he disappeared.
But what got me—what really got me—was the mirror.
It had been cleaned.
The broken glass gone.
But I remembered.
The blood on his knuckles.
Nilay's panicked voice.
The way his eyes had looked up at me like a kicked dog, still hoping I'd choose him.
I leaned against the doorframe and wiped my eyes, hard. I didn't deserve to cry.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it.
A cabinet.
Half open.
I walked to it without thinking.
And there it was.
Row after row of bottles.
Brown, clear, green, black—liquor of every kind, expensive and cheap, unopened and half-drunk.
The whole closet was a quiet war zone.
So this was where it came from.
The whiskey. The Hennessy. The absinthe. All of it.
He wasn't just drinking when I saw him.
He'd been drinking long before I noticed.
And suddenly, everything made sense.
The way he'd look at me with guilt before taking a sip.
The way he kissed me harder after.
The bitter heat on his tongue.
The bruises he left behind that didn't feel like him.
I stared at the collection for what felt like hours.
My hand twitched.
I wanted to smash them.
Every single one.
But I didn't.
Because I'd already broken him in enough ways.
Instead, I quietly shut the cabinet door… and walked away.
Back into a house that was no longer a home.
Back into a life we didn't know how to share.
Back into a silence neither of us knew how to fix.
The smell of grilled kebab clung to the air, smoky and warm. I stood by the stove, trying to distract myself with something normal. Something comforting. Something that didn't feel like yesterday.
The house was too quiet.
Until it wasn't.
The door creaked open.
I turned around, heart in my throat. Alekos.
He looked… drained. Not angry. Not furious. Just distant. He tossed his keys on the counter like this was any other day.
I hesitated, fingers twitching near the pan.
"I was wondering where you went," I said quietly. "I was worried."
He didn't even look at me. "My boss called. There's a new project. I had to go."
I nodded slowly. "Okay."
"Okay?" he echoed, finally looking at me. His voice wasn't loud—but it cut. "That's it?"
"What else am I supposed to say?"
He took a step forward. "I don't know. Maybe ask why I didn't tell you. Why I disappeared. Why I'm back now pretending it didn't happen."
"I didn't want to pressure you," I whispered.
"That's funny," he said bitterly, "because you let me fuck you like I was someone else."
My breath caught.
His voice cracked. "Why did you let me do that to you?"
I turned off the stove.
He kept going. "Why, Selin?"
"I—" I started, but my voice failed.
He stepped closer, eyes burning. "Tell me why. I need to know. Why didn't you stop me? Why didn't you say no?"
My throat tightened.
"Was it guilt?" he asked. "Pity?"
I shook my head.
"Then why?"
"I—because I…" My lips trembled. "I…"
The floor tilted.
The room swayed.
My vision blurred for a second too long, and my hand shot out, searching for the counter. I didn't faint—but I wasn't okay.
"Selin?" Alekos's voice turned sharp. "Hey—hey!"
He reached for me, panic washing away the fury.
"I'm fine," I gasped, holding up a trembling hand. "I'm fine."
But I wasn't. Not really.
He caught my elbow anyway, steadying me. "You don't look fine."
"I just got dizzy," I mumbled, trying to pull away.
"You were about to fall!"
"I said I'm fine!" My voice cracked on the last word.
And this time… I pushed his hand away.
Alekos froze.
His hand hovered mid-air like he didn't quite believe I'd just done that.
But then?
He dropped it.
Wordless.
His jaw clenched, and something in his eyes flickered—pain, maybe, or pride swallowing a deeper hurt. And just like that, he turned around and walked off.
No demand for an explanation.
No argument.
No goodbye.
Just footsteps down the hall and the quiet click of his door closing behind him.
The silence that followed was louder than anything he could've said.
I stared at the kebab still sitting on the stove, now slightly burned at the edges. The smoke curled lazily in the air, taunting me.
I didn't have the energy to turn it off.
I didn't have the energy for anything.
The stool scraped against the tile as I sat down.
Hands trembling. Lips pressed together.
The dizziness had passed, but the ache in my chest only grew.
He walked away.
And this time…
I let him.