Chapter 87: It was too late
Natalie’s grip on his arm loosened, her mind-numbing for a brief moment. Her anger, once fiery and sharp, crumbled into despair. Tears welled in her eyes without her noticing, and the bitterness she had clung to faded, replaced by a heavy sense of worry.
"H-how bad is it this time?" she finally asked, her voice fragile. Her hand trembled as she withdrew it, balling it into a fist against her dress, trying to still the shaking.
Dominic exhaled slowly, hating himself for losing control. He wouldn’t dare to turn around and look at her, so he stared at the floor instead. "The best I have... is a year."
Natalie felt her body freeze in disbelief, the tears spilling over naturally. Her heart, moments ago so ready to hate him—to despise and forget him—was now a mess of grief and confusion.
The memories of their early years flashed before her: their awkward, arranged marriage turning into something more, how they had started to like each other. And when they were so close to confessing their love, Dominic’s tumor destroyed it all.
"Let’s divorce, Nat. I won’t be able to give you the life you deserve," Dominic had said on their first anniversary, his voice cold and defeated. But Natalie had refused to give up and followed him to Aracamia, determined to fight alongside him, to save him.
But could she do that again? Her mind screamed, No. Not again! But her heart... It wavered, unable to make the choice.
"You should’ve told me," Natalie whispered, her voice so faint but full of fear. "You should’ve told me, Dom."
Dominic turned to meet her gaze, his eyes, dark and glistening with unshed tears, locked onto hers. He’d missed the way she called him "Dom," the way her voice softened, even in anger. But it was too late, it was all his fault and karma was paying him for mistreating her.
"I didn’t want to hurt you more than I already have," Dominic admitted, his voice raw and sincere. "You deserve a better life, Nat. A life without me dragging you down."
Natalie’s chest tightened painfully, the final ounce of strength crumbling at his confession. He was saying all the things he should have said long ago, words that might have changed everything if he hadn’t been so blinded by his mother’s grief and hatred for her. Without warning, she raised her hand and slapped him, her palm stinging against his cheek.