“You felt like it was stolen from you.”

“Yes,” I answer. “I felt like I needed to demonstrate that I wasn’t meaningless by finding success elsewhere. I kept chasing after something that validated me. Nothing I’ve done has really taken away the hurt. The utter disbelief that the life I loved was finished was all I could see. Looking at it now, it’s so clear how ridiculous that was. At that point, I still had you. So, I actually had everything I needed.”

When our eyes meet, I cup her cheek and softly say, “But by the time I lifted my head to see the world around me, I was too blind to realize that I neglected the one thing that mattered the most to me.”

“How come you never told me how you were really feeling? It seems like you were spiraling, Ryot.”

“I was . . . I am,” I answer honestly before pressing my palm to my eye. “I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to believe it. But listening to you, looking in on myself, and spending these past few days with you, as if . . . as if we are the same couple from six years ago, it’s made me realize that I haven’t been happy these past few months. I’ve just been pretending.”

“Why?”

I press my hand to hers and whisper, “Because I’m supposed to be the strong one, Myla. I’m the one who is supposed to do the protecting. I’m the one who is supposed to take care of you. Not the other way around.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks and then presses her fingers to my chin so I’m forced to face my problems head-on. “Ryot, a marriage is about being in a partnership. It’s never one-sided. You aren’t the only one in our marriage who was supposed to be strong.”

“I realize that now,” I say and then leave it at that. I don’t know what else to say. I don’t want to get into this in a restaurant, or really get into it at all because it just hit me like a ton of bricks.

My career.

My feelings.

My inability to lean on Myla when I should have.

I pushed her away, ignored her, and tried my hardest to show that I wasn’t hurting.

I put on a show for the world to let whoever was watching know that I was happy, successful, and pleased with the new chapter in my life, but in reality, I haven’t been.

“Are you okay? You went quiet on me,” Myla says.

“Yeah,” I answer while I smooth my hand over my leg. “You know, I’m getting pretty tired. Want to head back to the room?”

She studies me for a moment, and I feel her wanting to press more, to dive deep into my confession, but thankfully, she doesn’t. “Sure.”

I pay the bill, and then we both rise from the table, and I take her hand in mine. Together, we head back to our hotel room.