Secretly Married for 4 Years, He Regrets to Tears After the Divorce

Chapter 265: Chapter 265: So Be It, I’ll Follow My Heart for Now

After Adrian finished speaking, the bedroom fell into an even deeper silence.

All that remained was the sound of the rain and their soft, intertwined breaths.

He held Wren’s hand, his grip a little tight, as if afraid that letting go would sever this rare connection.

Wren felt the slight dampness of his palm and the warmth he so carefully conveyed. Her breath caught for a moment in the darkness before she slowly released it.

Adrian’s words were like a stone dropped into a deep pool, its ripples spreading outward.

Wren listened to the rain outside, not speaking immediately. She stared at the blurry outline of the ceiling in the darkness, letting the fragments of memory his words had stirred drift quietly through her mind.

The empty living room, the cold meals, her lonely reflection in the windowpane, and those words she never meant: "I’m not afraid."

Strangely, as she thought of it now, the familiar, twisting ache in her chest had faded considerably.

It was like a faded painting; the details remained, but the colors were no longer so harsh.

The day she’d confided in her mother, the hurt and pain had churned inside her like a tempest, threatening to drown her.

But now, the tide had receded, revealing a beach washed mostly smooth. Though ravines remained, it was no longer a treacherous, muddy expanse.

The pain was still there, but it was more of an acknowledgment now—an acknowledgment that the wounds had been real, but also an acknowledgment that she had pulled herself out of that mire.

Adrian’s voice continued, low and filled with a self-reproach that was almost torturous, as he dissected his past arrogance and indifference.

The silence stretched on, woven with the sound of the rain.

Wren lowered her eyelids, her thick lashes trembling faintly in the darkness.

"Adrian," she said softly. Her voice was calm, surprisingly so even to herself, and it sounded exceptionally clear in the rainy night.

The man beside her held his breath almost instantly, his full attention fixed on her voice.

There was no resentment in Wren’s voice, no sob catching in her throat. She spoke as if she were recounting an old, distant event that just happened to involve her.

"You remember that rainy night, and so do I. I remember every minute and every second I waited for you. I remember the empty echo in the house when the thunder crashed. I said I wasn’t afraid, but it wasn’t because I was being stubborn."

She paused, as if searching for the right words.

"It was because I knew that saying I was scared wouldn’t change anything."

"You still wouldn’t have come home early, and I still would have had to face a whole night of thunder alone."

"Since my helplessness wouldn’t earn me any comfort, I figured I could at least maintain a pathetic shred of dignity, to keep from looking like I needed you so desperately, like I couldn’t live without you."

These words had once been like fine needles lodged in her throat, and every time she thought of them, she could taste the coppery tang of blood.

But saying them aloud now was like taking out old keepsakes that had been stored in her heart for too long. Though dusty, they seemed to have lost much of their weight.

Adrian’s breathing grew heavy, and the hand holding hers began to tremble. His fingertips were ice-cold.

"Wren, I..." His voice was broken, nearly drowned out by the immense pain and regret that washed over him.

Any words felt hollow and ridiculous at this moment.

He seemed to want to say more, but the immense guilt choked off his words.

"Don’t say you’re sorry," Wren interrupted gently, shaking her head.

"I know what you want to say, but those two words are too light. They can’t bear the weight of all those nights."

Her tone remained steady, tinged with a weary sort of tolerance.

"I’m not blaming you. I just want to tell you what those things meant to me."

"They taught me not to place my expectations on others, not even on the people closest to me."

"I know." Adrian’s voice was terribly hoarse, each word like it was being grated against sandpaper.

"I don’t dare ask you to forget. That would be too cruel. I’m just asking you for the chance."

"The chance to spend the rest of my life making up for all those nights you had to face alone, one by one."

"I’m not asking you to trust me right away. Just let me stay where you can see me. Watch what I do."

Wren didn’t answer his plea. She followed her own train of thought, her voice growing softer, like a whisper in the dead of night.

"I admit, watching how attentive you’ve been to the children, seeing you try so hard to make up for things... it’s stirred something in me."

She was being honest, no longer avoiding her truest feelings.

"I find myself craving the warm, happy feeling at home when you make Owen and Nina laugh. I crave the small illusion of peace that comes when you cautiously draw near."

"It’s not an illusion," Adrian said hurriedly, wanting to explain. "It’s not. I really..."

"I know," Wren interrupted, her tone still gentle but carrying an undeniable clarity.

"I know you might be sincere now, but my heart isn’t a switch. I can’t just press ’forgive’ and have everything go back to the way it was."

"All those nights alone, all those feelings you ignored... they’re still there."

"I don’t hate you as much anymore, but I can’t just start trusting you again."

This was how Wren truly felt.

As her resentment faded, it didn’t leave a void behind, but rather a more complex clarity.

She could see Adrian’s change, and she could also see the chasm that lay between them, one that would take a very long time to close.

"I don’t need you to trust me right away." Adrian’s voice held an almost humble earnestness, yet it was also exceptionally firm.

"I’m only asking for a chance to prove myself by your side. Take a day, a month, a year, or even a lifetime."

"You can test me whenever you want, and you can call it off at any time. My only fear is that you won’t even give me the chance."

Wren remained silent. The warmth from his palm was steady and constant, his presence beside her a silent, watchful vigil.

After a long moment, she released a very soft breath.

"I can’t promise anything. The future is too far off; no one knows what will happen. But for now, at least, I’m willing to try... to not bolt the door that leads to you."

The moment she finished speaking, she felt the hand holding hers give a sharp tremor, then enclose her own more gently, more preciously than before.

A short, suppressed sound, thick with a choked sob, escaped from deep in Adrian’s throat, as if a tidal wave of emotion had finally found a tiny release.

"Okay."

Wren didn’t say anything more. The cold, hard knot that had been lodged in her chest for so long seemed to be quietly loosening, starting to melt.

’Maybe you can only truly move on from a hurt once you’ve said it out loud. I never used to say anything because I thought it was useless, and I was afraid of looking weak. But now... I’ve voiced my pain, admitted my fears, and even confessed to that faint craving. This is enough for now. I’ll just follow my heart, take one step forward, and see what happens. Not for forgiveness, not for the past, but for that tiny sliver of hope in my heart.’

"Let’s sleep," Wren said softly, slowly closing her eyes.

"Okay," Adrian replied, his heart filled with hope.

He didn’t make another move, simply maintaining his position, cradling Wren’s hand against his heart as if it were his entire world, lost and now found.