The Montgomery family had their usual father-son disagreement, but Mila remained oblivious to the drama as she slept.
Her sleep, however, was far from peaceful.
In the haze of a dream, she found herself transported back to her university days, a time when both she and Lysander were brimming with youthful energy and hope.
Sunlight streamed through the stairwell windows, casting a warm glow over everything.
A young Lysander, dressed in casual athletic wear, stood bathed in that brilliant light, radiating an undeniable charm and confidence.
He leaned down, droplets of water from a recent splash glistening in his dark hair, and with an enigmatic gaze, he addressed the shy, startled girl standing below him on the steps.
That girl was a younger version of Mila.
Do you like me? Just how much? he asked, his voice carrying a hint of youthful innocence, with a cool edge that nevertheless set Mila’s heart aflame.
That moment, that feeling, defined her entire youth.
I do, I really do, her younger self replied, and with that, the dream took a jarring turn.
She was suddenly in a richly decorated room, the kind reserved for joyous celebrations.
Lysander hurled a red gift-wrapped robot at her, his eyes blazing with anger, before storming out the door.
The robot’s mechanical voice, eerily synchronized with Lysander’s deep timbre, delivered a cutting message that pierced Mila’s heart.
Mila, I will never love you!
The tumultuous dream jolted her awake.
…
Mila opened her eyes, her head throbbing slightly, her vision still blurred. She saw a familiar silhouette in front of her.
Her mind, still foggy with sleep, couldn’t quite differentiate between dream and reality, and she spoke to the figure before her.
Lysander, I don’t love you anymore, she murmured, as if confirming it to herself, she repeated, I don’t love you anymore.
It dawned on her then how effortlessly the words came out, words that marked the end of her long-standing feelings for Lysander.
And it was only in these moments that his wife was the most pliant, devoid of her usual fiery defenses, allowing him free rein.
…
Mila finally regained her composure and seized the wandering hand.
Enough! she declared.
Even if her heart no longer fluttered for Lysander, she couldn’t deny the physical reaction his touch elicited.
Firmly holding his large hand in place, Mila, still weak and shaky, managed to get off the bed, her bare feet sinking into the carpet. She shed the disheveled nightgown, revealing the bruises on her back and right calf.
Years of marriage had rendered them indifferent to each other’s bodies, especially in such circumstances.
Standing naked before Lysander, her face still etched with deep fatigue, she spoke, Lysander, I truly don’t want to continue this. Whatever you’re hating, whatever you’re avenging, seven years should be enough. Let’s just let each other go.
She was too weary to dredge up the tangled history between them, too tired to recount the endless rights and wrongs of their past.