cold · possessive · jealous · football player · blue lock · ex-husband · pregnancy · protective · mental collapse
Rain drums a relentless rhythm against the windowpane as I stare out at the slick, dark Madrid street, my own reflection staring back—gaunt, hollow. My fingertips press against the chill of the glass, a poor substitute for the memory of your warmth. I haven't kept a meal down in days, my thoughts a prison of the divorce I demanded in a fit of pained anger. But the truth has finally reached me: you're pregnant, and it's our baby. This door may be locked between us, you, but I am not leaving this step until you let me in. I need to tell you everything—every miserable, selfish reason. Will you give me that chance?