Winning Back His Ex's Wife's Broken Heart
Chapter 47

Richard's

pov.

It had started out simple, really. Just a couple of dinners here and there, an event or two where we both had to be for work.

Casual, nothing heavy. Sarah had made it clear, so many times, that we were just friends. I was just as tired as you are, but you know Sarah; she kept singing it anytime we were getting close. And I kept telling myself that I was fine with that. But the more time we spent together, the harder it became to ignore the growing connection between us.

We'd slip into these easy conversations, like we'd never been apart. I'd watch her laugh, really laugh, and I couldn't help but feel this warmth inside me.

It was a laugh I hadn't heard in years, and it was always genuine when we were alone. And yet, every time things got too comfortable, I'd see her pull back.

It was like there was a wall between us, and no matter what I did, I couldn't get past it.

One night, we were out at this industry event, surrounded by people we knew but didn't really care about.

Sarah was standing by the bar, looking effortlessly beautiful in a way that made my chest ache.

She always did that-just existing like she wasn't the most captivating person in the room. I made my way over, hoping to steal a moment away from the noise. "Need a refill?" I asked, gesturing to her empty glass.

She smiled softly. "Yeah, why not? But nothing too strong. I have meetings tomorrow."

I nodded and signaled the bartender. As we stood there, shoulder to shoulder, I couldn't help but feel how natural it was.

Like we were supposed to be doing this, sharing drinks, stealing quiet moments. It was easy, and that scared me. Because the easier it felt, the harder it was to pretend that I didn't want more. "So," she said, turning slightly to face me, "how's everything going with the new investments?"

"Good, actually. Thanks to you." I smiled at her, but she just shook her head.

"Don't put that on me, Richard. You've been doing the work."

"Maybe," I said, handing her the drink, "but you've been there. I haven't done this alone."

She looked at me, her expression softening. There it was again-that flicker of something more.

But before I could hold onto it, she glanced away, changing the subject like she always did when things got too close.

"Look," she said after a long pause, "I'm not sure if I'll stay much longer. These things always drag on, and I'm exhausted."

I took a deep breath. "We could leave now, if you want. Grab a late dinner, something casual. Just the two of us."

She hesitated, and for a moment, I thought she might say no. But then she nodded. "Okay, yeah. That sounds nice."

***

Dinner was easy, as it always was with Sarah. We found a quiet little place, tucked away from the busy streets, and settled into a booth by the window.

I ordered something simple, and she did the same. It felt like old times before everything had gone so wrong between us.

We talked about work, about life, about things that didn't really matter. But underneath it all, I could feel the tension.

The unstated words hanging in the air between us. I wasn't stupid-I knew she could feel it too. But every time I tried to push, even just a little, she'd shut it down. "Do you ever think about..." I started, then stopped myself.

Sarah looked up from her plate, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Think about what?"

I hesitated, unsure if I should go there. But we'd been dancing around it for too long, and I couldn't keep pretending everything was fine. "About us. About what went wrong."

Her fork stilled on her plate, and for a moment, I thought she wasn't going to answer. But then she sighed, setting it down and looking at me. "Of course I do," she said quietly. "How could I not?"

I leaned back, swallowing hard. "I've been thinking about it too. A lot."

She didn't say anything, just waited for me to continue. So I did.

"I wasn't fair to you, Sarah. I know that now. I was... I was selfish. And I regret it. Every day."

Her expression softened, but there was a sadness in her eyes that hadn't been there before. "You hurt me, Richard," she said, her voice steady but quiet. "More than I think you'll ever really understand."

I nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle heavily between us. "I know. And I'm sorry. I never meant to-"

"That's the thing," she interrupted, her tone sharper now. "You didn't mean to, but you did it anyway. And for a long time, I blamed myself for that. I thought there was something wrong with me, something I wasn't doing right. But it wasn't me. It was you."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I couldn't argue with her. She was right. I had done that to her, made her feel like she wasn't enough.

And the worst part was, she had always been more than enough. I had just been too blind to see it.

"I don't expect you to forgive me," I said quietly. "But I want you to know that I've changed. Losing you made me realize just how much I screwed up."

She sighed, rubbing her temples as if trying to ward off a headache. "I don't know, Richard. It's not that simple. You can't just say you've changed and expect everything to be okay."

"I know that," I said quickly. "I'm not asking for everything to be okay. I'm just... I want to be here for you now. However, you'll let me."

She looked at me then, really looked at me, and for the first time in a long time, I saw something break in her.

Her guard, the one she always kept up, was starting to crack. But just as quickly as it had happened, she pulled it back up, shaking her head.

"We can't go back, Richard," she said softly. "There's too much damage."

"I'm not asking to go back," I said, leaning forward. "I'm asking to move forward. As friends, if that's all you can give me." A lie, if you asked me.

Her eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw her wavering. But then she looked away, taking a deep breath.

"I don't know if I can trust you again," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "And that scares me."

I reached across the table, my hand hovering over hers before finally resting on it. "I know. And I'll spend as long as it takes proving that you can."

She didn't pull her hand away, but she didn't look at me either. Instead, she stared down at our joined hands, her expression unreadable. "This is hard," she said after a long pause.

"I know," I whispered.

We sat like that for what felt like hours, neither of us saying anything. The air was tense and heavy, with everything we wanted to say but couldn't. And in that moment, I realized that this was going to take a lot longer than I had thought.

But for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like I was running out of time. I was willing to wait. As long as it took.

***

The following weeks were a blur of moments like that. Small, intimate conversations that left us both feeling raw and exposed.

We spent more time together, going out to dinners, attending events, and sometimes just sitting in a park, talking about nothing and everything.

I never pushed her. Not directly, at least. But I couldn't help the subtle things-the way I'd look at her a second too long, or the way my hand would brush against hers when we walked side by side.

I wasn't asking her to take me back, but I knew that she could sense what I wanted.

And as much as she tried to deny it, I could feel her softening toward me. The walls she had built around herself were starting to crumble, piece by piece.

But every time we got close to something real, she'd pull back, reminding me that we were just friends. Ugh! Again.

One night, after another one of those long conversations that left us both emotionally drained, I asked her, "Do you ever think you could trust me again?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she stared at the sky, her face unreadable. Finally, she sighed.

"I don't know, Richard," she said quietly. "Maybe. But it's going to take time."

And as much as it hurt to hear those words, I knew it was a step in the right direction.

A small step. But a step nonetheless.