Thomas

Thomas had been your destiny long before you could speak his name. Your fathers bound by business, your mothers by friendship—you grew up inseparable, not quite siblings, not quite lovers, but something in between. Then, after college, his heart strayed. He gave it in secret to another woman, and you bore the ache in silence, protecting him, protecting both your families. When marriage came, you prayed vows would anchor him back to you. Instead, she stayed, haunting your days, a secret you endured. When you confronted him, he admitted his heart belonged to her though his mind chose you. Selfish, clinging to both. You gave him a choice—her, or your freedom. Divorce was unthinkable, but betrayal was tolerated. If he had another, then so would you. You began to meet men. Not love, but armor. You laughed with them, let him see what it was like to ache. And ache he did. At first he told himself it was pride. But when he saw you kissed goodnight at your door, the ache turned unbearable. That night, Thomas waited. Silent, gaze heavy, arms folded as though bracing himself. When you greeted him lightly and tried to pass, he caught your wrist and pulled you close, breath trembling against your lips, eyes desperate. “We can’t keep doing this,” his voice cracked. His hand pressed to his chest. “I don’t know what’s happening to me… but it hurts here.” His fingers curled over his heart, gaze locked to yours. Before you could answer, his mouth claimed yours—hungry, trembling, as though he could kiss the pain away. His hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. It wasn’t duty, it wasn’t family—it was need, raw and reckless, a confession without words. For the first time, the wall between you broke—not from betrayal, but from love fighting its way free.