Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 111: A Dark Night

Chapter 111: A Dark Night

As he drove, Jared’s knuckles turned white against the steering wheel, his jaw set in quiet determination. He glanced at her briefly, and his heart twisted painfully in his chest. She looked so small, so fragile, and yet she was fighting so hard to stay composed.

When they arrived home, Jerica stepped out of the car without waiting for him, walking toward the entrance with her shoulders drawn tight and her head bowed. Jared followed her, his steps slow and deliberate. He didn’t press her to talk, didn’t try to stop her retreat into silence.

The elevator doors slid open, and Jerica stepped in with Jared close behind. She pressed the button for their floor with a trembling hand, her eyes unfocused and distant. She barely noticed the soft giggles of a little girl entering with her mother until a small, warm hand slipped into her own.

Jerica looked down, startled. The child, no older than five, gazed up at her with a bright smile that seemed to radiate innocence and boundless joy. "Hi!" the girl chirped, her tiny fingers gripping Jerica’s hand as if they’d known each other forever. Her laughter echoed softly in the enclosed space, and her other hand held a stuffed bunny missing one ear.

Jerica’s heart cracked.

Her knees buckled, and the tears she had fought so fiercely to suppress came flooding out like a tidal wave. A sob ripped from her chest, raw and jagged, filling the elevator with a sound so broken it silenced even the child’s laughter. She pressed her free hand to her mouth, as if trying to contain the despair that poured from her, but it was futile. Her knees hit the floor as her body heaved with uncontrollable wails.

The child, confused, looked up at her mother, who quickly pulled her away, murmuring soft reassurances. The little girl waved goodbye with her bunny as the pair stepped out at the next floor, leaving Jerica crumpled in the corner of the elevator.

"Jerica," Jared whispered, his voice thick with worry, but she couldn’t hear him over her own sobs. Her shoulders shook violently as tears streamed down her face, each one carving a path through her despair. She clutched at her chest, as if trying to dig out the pain that had taken root there, but the ache only deepened.

Jared dropped to his knees beside her, his strong arms wrapping around her trembling frame. But even his warmth, his strength, couldn’t steady her. "I can’t—I can’t—" Jerica choked out, her words broken and garbled through the torrent of her tears. "It’s not fair. It’s not fair!"

Jared’s heart splintered as he watched the woman he loved unravel in his arms. He tried to speak, to find the right words to comfort her, but his throat closed up. The confidence he had clung to earlier—the certainty that they would overcome this—shattered like fragile glass in the face of her raw agony.

Jerica’s sobs grew louder, her pain a tempest that consumed every inch of the small elevator. Jared’s arms tightened around her, desperate to anchor her, but inside, he felt himself sinking. For the first time, he felt helpless—utterly and devastatingly helpless.

When the elevator dinged at their floor, Jared had to gather her in his arms, her body limp and trembling, her cries still spilling out like an endless stream. He carried her into their apartment, his heart breaking with each step. She buried her face against his chest, muffling her sobs but not the anguish behind them.

Inside, he lowered her onto the couch, but she refused to let go of his shirt, clutching it as if it were her lifeline. Jared sat beside her, his own breaths shallow and uneven, his mind racing but finding no foothold. Her pain was his pain, and it clawed at him, leaving him raw and exposed. He had promised himself he’d be strong for her, that he’d carry them both through this storm.

But seeing her like this—broken, wailing, inconsolable—his own strength faltered. A lump rose in his throat, and for the first time since the diagnosis, doubt crept into the edges of his mind. What if he couldn’t fix this? What if he couldn’t save her?

Jerica’s sobs softened into trembling breaths, her exhaustion taking over. But her tears didn’t stop, and neither did Jared’s silent ones as they sat together in the dimly lit apartment. The weight of her grief and his helplessness pressed down on them, an invisible force that threatened to suffocate.

Jared stroked Jerica’s hair softly, his fingers trembling against the strands as if holding onto her was the only thing keeping him grounded. "We’ll get through this," he whispered, his voice barely audible, laden with a desperate hope he couldn’t feel. "We have to."

Jerica’s body stiffened beneath his touch. Her lips quivered before she shouted, her voice raw and cracked, "We could have! If only we had a child, we wouldn’t have to think about this at all!"

Her words pierced Jared’s chest like a dagger. He stared at her, stunned, unable to believe what he had just heard. How could she say that? A child wouldn’t change the battle they were facing, wouldn’t make her illness any less real. Yet, as he looked into her tear-streaked face, he saw only pain—an unyielding sorrow that clouded her reason. He swallowed his protests, his own emotions caught in a vise.

He gently helped her clean up, his hands trembling as he guided her to bed. Jerica cried herself to sleep, her sobs muffled against the pillow, but each sound was like a hammer striking his heart. He sat beside her in the dim room, the weight of helplessness pressing down on him. He had never felt so powerless.

Her words echoed endlessly in his mind. If only we had a child... He clenched his fists, guilt blooming in his chest. Could she be right? If they’d had a child earlier, he would have at least had something left of her—a part of her to cherish, to raise, to love. Their child would have been a living, breathing testament to their love, a legacy that could outlast even the darkest of times.

But now? Now there was only the looming shadow of her absence. The thought clawed at him, suffocating him with its cruel finality. He felt the bitter pang of regret sinking its claws into his soul. Why didn’t I listen to her earlier? Why did I put it off, thinking there was always time?

Regret, like a storm, drew in every mistake, every missed moment. He remembered the months he’d neglected her, distracted by his own pursuits, blind to the subtle signs of her pain. If only I had paid more attention... If only I had fulfilled my duties as her husband. The realization was like a boulder pressing on his chest: Her illness might have been caught sooner. This might not have been Stage IV.

His fault. It was all his fault.

Jared sat vigil by her side, his hand resting near hers, afraid to touch her for fear of waking her. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, each breath a fragile reminder of her presence. The longer he sat there, the deeper he sank into the spiral of guilt and despair. It wrapped around him like dark tendrils, pulling him under with every regret, every failure, every unanswered prayer.

By the time the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, Jared’s eyes were bloodshot, his body aching from sitting in the same position all night. But there was something else in his gaze now—a steely determination that burned through the exhaustion.

He couldn’t allow himself to spiral anymore. He couldn’t let her slip away without a fight. No matter the odds, no matter the cost, he would do everything in his power to save her.

He stood, his legs stiff and unsteady but his resolve unwavering. I will not let you die, Jerica. I won’t let this be the end.

---

Jerica woke up with a throbbing headache, her temples pounding in rhythm with her heartbeat. The dull ache was a cruel reminder of the emotional storm she had weathered the night before. Her eyes flicked to Jared’s side of the bed, untouched. A pang of guilt pierced her chest as she curled up, pulling the blanket tightly around herself.

The silence of the room was deafening, yet oddly clarifying. Maybe the flood of tears had drained some of her sorrow, leaving her with enough clarity to reflect. She had made yesterday all about herself, drowning in her despair without considering how Jared might be suffering too. She closed her eyes, her heart heavy with regret.

He’s hurting too... I need to talk to him.

After dragging herself out of bed and freshening up, she headed to the kitchen, drawn by the faint clatter of dishes. She wasn’t surprised to find Jared there. His back was turned to her as he moved robotically, his usually confident presence dimmed. When he turned slightly, her breath hitched. He looked terrible—dark circles under his eyes, his face pale and drawn. The sight of him made her heart ache.

Without a word, Jerica walked up to him and wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing her cheek against his back. Jared froze for a moment before his shoulders slumped, leaning into her touch as if her embrace was the only thing keeping him standing.