Chapter 125- heal

Words : 1366 Updated : Oct 5th, 2025

Chapter 125: Chapter 125- heal Laurent had tried, gently at first, then more directly, to pry open the past between Lilian and Morrison. But every time, Lilian only smiled faintly, brushing it all aside with the same words—"It’s over." Not a word. Not a fragment. And sometimes, silence speaks louder than any confession. When Laurent said as much, Morrison felt something inside his chest collapse. His eyes widened, his breath caught. Shock—raw and jagged—cut through him. Not a word? Lilian, who used to chatter about everything, who shared her joys so openly, who would rush to Laurent with every grievance, every happiness, every little thing that made her heart stir—she had swallowed it all down? It wasn’t like her. It wasn’t her at all. So what did it mean? That she no longer cared enough to speak of him? Or that the wound was so deep she had no strength left to give it voice? The thought gutted him. Morrison sank into a chair at the dining table, his tall frame seeming smaller somehow, fragile against the ghostly remains of what had been meant as a celebration. He reached for the wine, poured himself a glass with unsteady hands, and sat among the ruins of the evening she had crafted for him. The cold dishes, the untouched cake she had made with her own hands... all of it mocked him now. With a voice that carried more regret than pride, he began to speak. He didn’t tell Laurent everything—the past was too vast, the memories too sharp—but he shared enough. He told her how it began with Lilian seeking him out, boldly asking him to teach her how to love. The admission made Laurent’s jaw drop; she had never imagined the sweet, obedient Lilian capable of such a reckless act. Neither had he, back then. He spoke of that New Year, when she had first tried to end things. How he had followed her to the mountain villa, how their bodies had bound them together again, pulling them back into a love that was both salvation and curse. And finally... the second, final breakup. Laurent listened quietly, her expression unreadable after the initial shock faded. When he finished, her voice was soft but sharp enough to cut him open: "If you could never give her a future, why did you touch her at all?" The question struck him harder than any fist. He fell silent, the only sound the clink of the wine against the glass as he lifted it to his lips. He drank deeply, then spoke in a low, broken tone. "I thought... I thought it would be easy. Marriage, promises, forever... I overestimated myself." By the time the bottle ran dry, his voice was nothing but a husk in the empty apartment. The truth was simple, brutal: when he had taken her into his arms, he had wanted to marry her. He had truly meant it. But wanting and doing were not the same. Words were easy. Actions were not. Laurent’s gaze flicked to the empty bottle, then back to him. "Then why are you here now?" Her question silenced him for a long, heavy moment. Morrison stared at the remnants of her devotion—the cold dinner, the candles, the cake—and found no answer. What was he doing here? Laurent rose, walked to the table, and lifted the cover from the cake. One glance was all she needed. She was an expert in cooking, in baking. The care in its detail was unmistakable. "This was made by her, wasn’t it?" Laurent’s voice was cool, almost cruel. "A girl who never stepped into a kitchen before... do you know how many times she must have practiced, how many times she must have failed, before she finally made this one for you?" The words hit him like blades. If he had any love left for Lilian—and he knew he did—they were enough to pierce his heart. Laurent said no more. She turned and returned to the bedroom to finish packing Lilian’s things. When she came out again, Morrison was still there, motionless, drowning in silence. Something softened in her, just for a moment. Perhaps it was because Morrison had once stood between her and Dave, pushing them back together when they had fallen apart. Perhaps it was only pity. "If you regret it," she said at last, her tone clipped but not unkind, "then act now. Or you’ll be too late." Her words hung in the air like a final warning. Laurent didn’t tell him the truth—that Lilian was leaving, that once she stepped onto that plane, Bert would be at her side and Morrison would never reach her again. That secret belonged to Dave, and to Lilian herself. It wasn’t hers to break. But still... she had given him a chance, however slim. Because a woman’s intuition whispered that Morrison’s heart was cracking open, too late, but real nonetheless. Morrison’s brows knit as he looked at her, suspicion shadowing his face. "What do you mean by that?" His voice was rough, desperate. Laurent only shook her head. "I’ve said all I can." And with that, the silence between them returned, heavier than before. Laurent picked up the packed bags, her duty done, her words spoken. There was nothing more she could offer here. "I’ll go first," she said quietly. Her figure disappeared through the door, leaving Morrison standing alone in the hollow apartment. He didn’t stop her, didn’t call her back, didn’t demand answers she couldn’t give. Deep down, he knew—Laurent belonged to Dave’s side. She would never betray that. The fact that she had given him even that much of a warning was already more than he deserved. Downstairs, Laurent lingered for a while, half-expecting the sound of hurried footsteps behind her, the sharp call of his voice. A request. A message. Anything for her to bring back to Lilian. Something simple. Something fragile. "Tell her I’m sorry." "Tell her I regret it." Words that, if spoken, might still loosen the lock Lilian had fastened around her heart. Might still keep her from leaving. But the street behind her remained silent. Morrison never came. Laurent’s lips curved with bitter disappointment. Perhaps he hadn’t even realized his own regret yet. Perhaps he wouldn’t until Lilian truly vanished from his reach, until every call went unanswered, until the silence stretched into forever. It is always like this— Only when love is gone do people learn how much it meant. It had been that way for her and Dave. And now it was repeating with Lilian and Morrison. When Morrison finally left the apartment, it was with empty hands—save for the cake. The cake she had made for him. The cake that had never been cut, never been shared. He carried it with him like a relic, though he didn’t even understand why. Maybe because it was the last trace of her devotion. Maybe because he could not bear to leave it behind in the dark. He did not move to chase her. He did not think she could really go. In Morrison’s mind, Lilian was not the kind of woman who could walk away completely. She was soft, tender, easily swayed. Not the sort to burn bridges and cross oceans. Leaving the country? Impossible. It never occurred to him that fate had already placed Bert in her path, ready to guide her away. That Bert’s return to America was perfectly timed. That all Lilian needed was a few documents, a few signatures—and her escape would be complete. It never crossed his mind that Dave himself was the one making it all happen, pushing every string, calling every favor, determined to send her far away. Because Dave and Bert both knew what Morrison refused to see— If she stayed here, if she stayed with her shattered heart and her failing body, she would drown. Perhaps in another country, with new skies and a new life, she might begin to heal. That was why Laurent had said those words to him. That was why she had urged him to act before it was too late. But Morrison, blinded by his own certainty, never understood. Not yet.

Chapter 125- heal

Comments (0)