Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 115: He Was Hurt

Chapter 115: He Was Hurt

Jerica instinctively reached for his hand, her fingers intertwining with his as she gently squeezed him. "That sounds like love," she whispered. "She just wants you to have the peace she never had."

Jared looked at their joined hands for a long moment, his thumb brushing absently against hers. "I didn’t understand it," he admitted. "I thought she didn’t get it, that she was asking me to forget everything she’d been through. But then..." He looked up, his gaze locking with hers, intense and unflinching. "Then I realized how much I’d ignored you..."

Jerica’s breath caught in her throat.

"I was about to quit, Jerica," he said, his voice deep and steady, though it trembled at the edges. "I thought maybe... maybe I could do what my mother asked. Maybe I could let go of everything and try to build something better. Something real." He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers. "I want to build us a family. I want a life with you."

Her eyes widened, tears spilling freely down her cheeks now as the enormity of his confession sank in. He was willing to let go. For her. For them. All the walls he’d built around himself, all the anger and pain that had driven him for years—he had been ready to tear it all down for a chance at peace—a chance at love.

"Jared..." Her voice cracked under the weight of her emotions, and her hands trembled as she cupped his face, forcing him to look at her. Her thumbs brushed against the rough stubble on his cheeks, her touch as tender as the words she could barely bring herself to say. "You don’t have to carry this burden alone. You don’t have to keep fighting just to prove something to the past. You deserve more than that. We deserve more than that."

His jaw clenched as if trying to hold himself together, but the turmoil in his eyes betrayed him. Something raw flickered there—vulnerability, anger, love, and despair all colliding in an unspoken storm. "Do you really believe that?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, hoarse from the weight of the question.

Jerica’s chest tightened, her breath catching as she felt the depth of his pain. But even as his words hung heavy between them, her own anguish surged forward, unrelenting. The memory of her diagnosis stabbed at her heart like a cruel echo. Jared had bared his soul, laying his dreams at her feet, and yet, here she was, unable to offer him the one thing he wanted: her fight.

She closed her eyes, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Her fingers trailed down, finding his hand, lacing their fingers together as if that alone could anchor them both. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "Mea amor..." she began softly, the endearment trembling on her lips. "You can let go of the hatred. You’ve already done enough. After me, you’ll have everything—you’ll inherit more than enough to last for generations. Find someone else... a good woman. Marry her. Have lots of children. Travel the world."

Her voice faltered, but she forced herself to continue. The words tasted like ash in her mouth, every syllable tearing at her already fragile heart.

She felt Jared stiffen beneath her touch. Then, a low, bitter scoff escaped him, cutting through the room like a knife. "You’re serious?" he asked, his voice laced with disbelief, anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Before she could answer, he pulled his hand away from hers, the sudden loss of his warmth leaving her feeling exposed and hollow. He shifted, leaning back, and some of her hair clung to his shoulder for a moment before falling away, as though it, too, had been rejected.

Jerica lowered her head, her hair falling like a curtain to shield her face. She couldn’t bear to look at him. Couldn’t bear to see the hurt in his eyes, the betrayal she knew he must be feeling.

And yet, deep inside, she knew this was the only way. Asking Jared to let her go was like slicing her own soul in half, but the thought of him not living a full life after her—of him drowning in sorrow and rage—was even more unbearable. She loved him too much to let that happen.

If it meant breaking her own heart to give him a chance at healing, she would do it a thousand times over.

Jared stood abruptly, the sound of his cracking knuckles startling her. He didn’t say another word. He just walked away, his footsteps heavy and purposeful as he left the room.

The air felt colder the moment he was gone, and Jerica felt as though the warmth of his presence had been stripped from her world entirely.

When the door clicked shut behind him, her tears began to fall. Silent at first, then spilling over in uncontrollable waves. She curled up on the couch, pulling her knees to her chest as if trying to shield herself from the emptiness threatening to swallow her whole. Her shoulders shook, but no sound escaped her lips—only the wet streaks of tears trailing down her face betrayed the storm within her.

Her heart ached as if it had been shattered into pieces, each one pressing into her ribs with every ragged breath. She tried to console herself with the thought that she was doing the right thing. That this pain was necessary. But it didn’t make the emptiness any easier to bear.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook her. Her tears slowed, her breathing evened out, and the dark fog of sleep pulled her under.

As she drifted off, curled tightly on the cold, empty couch, a single thought echoed through her mind: I hope he can forgive me someday. I hope he can find happiness—even if it’s without me.

When Jerica woke up, sunlight poured through the curtains, casting long, golden streaks across the living room. She blinked a few times, surprised to find herself still curled up on the couch. The dull ache in her back reminded her of the awkward position she’d slept in, but it wasn’t just discomfort that stirred her—it was the absence of Jared.

Usually, if she ever dozed off on the couch, Jared would scoop her up without a word, carrying her to bed and tucking her in with the gentleness that always seemed to surprise her. But last night had been different. She glanced around, her heart sinking as she noticed how quiet the house was.

Sitting up, she ran a hand through her disheveled hair and tried to shake off the lingering exhaustion. Her stomach growled, and she decided food would be a good distraction. She made her way to the kitchen, expecting to find the breakfast Jared always prepared for her—a comforting routine she’d come to cherish.

But the counter was empty.

Confused, Jerica opened the oven, thinking he might have left it there to keep warm, but the oven was cold. A quick scan of the room revealed the kitchen hadn’t been used at all that morning. The sight unsettled her, the silence pressing in like a weight. Jared was meticulous—he never left the kitchen untouched if he was home.

Jerica’s pulse quickened as she moved through the house, searching for him. "Jared?" she called out, her voice tentative. She checked the bedroom, the office, even the balcony, but there was no sign of him. The empty spaces only deepened the gnawing anxiety that had started to creep into her chest.

She let out a slow sigh, trying to steady herself. He was probably still upset after their conversation last night. It made sense—she’d pushed him away, told him to let her go. Maybe he just needed time.

He’ll come back, she told herself.

Still, a hollow feeling lingered in her chest as she sat at the dining table. Her eyes wandered to her phone, and she decided to email her workplace for a leave of absence. Typing out the request felt surreal, and the thought of possibly resigning crossed her mind. The records room where she worked had always been her little sanctuary, a place where she felt in control of her life. The idea of giving it up made her chest tighten, as though a piece of her identity was slipping away.

Just as she hit "send," her phone buzzed in her hand. Harold’s name flashed on the screen.

She answered without hesitation. "Hello?"

"Are you sick?" Harold’s voice was sharp, laced with concern.

Jerica froze, her grip tightening on the phone. Her heart thudded in her chest. "What?" she managed to say, her voice cracking slightly. How could he possibly know? She hadn’t told anyone about her cancer—not Harold, not anyone outside of Jared.

"Is this about you and Jared?" Harold pressed, his tone insistent. "You’re not fighting, are you?"

"What the hell, Harold?" she snapped, her voice rising with frustration and unease. There was a pause on the other end, followed by a muffled yelp, as though Harold had dropped something.

"I’ll call you back," he said hurriedly, his tone evasive, before hanging up without another word.