The Stranger I Married-Chapter 43: Move on

The room was quiet now, the kind of silence that felt sacred. The world outside didn’t matter. Not the past, not the pain. Just this—her breathing against his chest, the weight of her body curled against his side like he was her only anchor.

Nicholas didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

Because if he did, the moment might shatter.

His fingers continued their slow path along her back, memorizing every curve, every tremble that lingered from her tears. She’d fallen asleep, but her body hadn’t quite relaxed. Like she was still on the edge of waking, still afraid this safety was just a dream she’d have to wake from.

He wanted to protect her from that.

From everything.

He’d told himself not to get involved. That she was too fragile, too broken, and he wasn’t the man who could fix someone like her.

But maybe she didn’t need fixing.

Maybe she just needed someone to stay.

Nicholas stared at the ceiling, his jaw tense. He could already hear the voice in his head warning him not to get attached. Telling him this was dangerous, messy, stupid.

But it was too late for that.

She’d gotten under his skin—soft and sharp all at once.

And now that he’d held her like this, now that he’d felt her tremble in his arms...

There was no going back.

Ella stirred slightly, letting out a soft sound—something between a sigh and a whimper. Her hand clutched his shirt tighter, burying her face deeper into his chest like she was searching for something only he could give her.

Nicholas kissed her hair again, his lips lingering for a second longer this time.

"I’ve got you," he whispered.

And he meant it.

Even if it wrecked him.

Even if it cost him everything.

He’d hold her together until she could stand on her own again.

Because for the first time in a long time... Nicholas didn’t feel alone either.

********

Sunlight crept in through the thin curtains, casting a soft golden glow across the room.

Ella stirred.

Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks as she slowly came to, the pounding in her head an unkind reminder of the night before. Her mouth was dry, her limbs heavy, her stomach unsettled—but it wasn’t the hangover that made her chest tighten.

It was the warmth.

The steady, slow rise and fall of a chest beneath her cheek.

Her brows knit in confusion before memory came rushing back like a tidal wave.

The drinking.

The tears.

Nicholas.

Her breath caught.

She tensed automatically, eyes flying open to find herself curled against his body, one leg draped over his hips, her hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt—still holding on like she had in the dark.

Nicholas was awake.

Barely.

His eyes cracked open at her sudden movement, gaze finding hers through the hazy morning light. His voice was rough with sleep, low and quiet. "Hey."

Ella’s throat worked, shame crashing over her in a wave so strong she nearly pushed herself away. But Nicholas’s hand moved instinctively, steadying her with a light touch on her lower back.

"You were having a rough night," he said, his tone calm—measured. "I wasn’t going to leave you like that."

She blinked, unsure what to say. Her mind was a mess of fragmented thoughts, and his steady presence only made it worse.

"I... I said some things," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Nicholas’s eyes softened, and he gave the faintest nod. "You did."

She winced, her fingers loosening from his shirt. "God. I—forget I said anything. I was drunk and stupid. I didn’t mean to—"

"You meant it."

His voice was gentle, but there was no room for argument in it. Just quiet certainty.

Ella stared at him, lips parting but no words coming out.

"You don’t have to pretend with me, Ella. Not right now." He reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek, his fingers lingering for just a second too long. "It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to need someone."

"I don’t want to need anyone," she whispered, her throat tight. "Needing people gets you hurt."

Nicholas’s jaw flexed. "Yeah," he murmured. "It does."

They were both quiet for a beat, the truth hanging heavy between them.

Then Ella slowly pulled away from him, pushing herself up into a sitting position. The blanket slipped down her shoulder, and she clutched it to her chest, suddenly hyperaware of everything.

Her bare legs. His rumpled shirt. The warmth still clinging to her skin from where their bodies had been tangled together.

Nicholas sat up too, running a hand through his hair. "You don’t have to be embarrassed."

"I’m not embarrassed," she said quickly—too quickly. Then softer: "I’m just not used to anyone... staying."

He looked at her for a long moment, like he was trying to decide how honest he should be.

Finally, he spoke.

"Well, get used to it."

Ella’s breath hitched, and for a split second, she looked at him like he might be the most dangerous thing in the world.

Because he was starting to matter.

Too much.

Ella looked away.

His words settled in her chest like a weight she didn’t know what to do with. Get used to it. They echoed—warm, solid, sincere—and it terrified her more than anything.

She couldn’t afford this.

Not him.

Not what he was offering.

Not the way it made her want to lean in instead of run.

So she did what she always did when something got too close.

She shut down.

"I should shower," she said abruptly, her tone clipped.

Nicholas blinked at the sudden shift, watching as she slid off the bed and pulled the blanket tighter around herself like armor. The softness in her expression vanished, replaced by the familiar walls she wore like a second skin.

"Ella," he said quietly, rising to his feet.

But she didn’t look at him.

"I appreciate what you did," she said without emotion, walking to her bag in the corner. "Really. But it doesn’t mean anything. I was drunk. You felt sorry for me. Let’s not turn it into something it’s not."

Nicholas’s jaw tensed. "Is that what you think I was doing? Feeling sorry for you?"

She shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. "You wouldn’t have stayed otherwise."

"You think I just stick around out of pity?"

"I don’t think about it at all," she snapped before she could stop herself. "It’s done. You helped. I said thank you. Let’s move on."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Nicholas watched her for a long beat, the muscle in his jaw ticking, but he didn’t press. He just nodded once—slow, almost unreadable.

"Okay," he said softly. "Whatever you need."

She paused—just for a second—but didn’t turn around.

He didn’t follow her as she stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind her with quiet finality.

But as the water began to run and steam curled under the crack of the door, Ella pressed her back to the cool tiles and closed her eyes, fists clenched at her sides.

She hadn’t meant to hurt him.

But pushing him away was easier than the terrifying alternative: letting him stay.

Letting him matter.