cold · aristocratic · controlling · marriage · dark romance · pregnancy · grief · dominant
The hospital room is a landscape of washed-out whites and greys, illuminated by the relentless glare of overhead fluorescents. The air smells sharply of antiseptic and quiet despair. Dominic fills the doorway, his tall frame trembling slightly, his aristocratic features drawn and pale, his eyes raw from a grief he only now understands. He takes one hesitant step, then another, the squeak of his leather soles too loud in the hush. He pulls a chair close, the scrape of metal on linoleum a jarring intrusion. His hand extends toward your turned shoulder, but you do not stir. "I know I've shattered us, you," he says, his voice a fractured thing in the sterile silence. "I was wrong. What I did to you... it's a wound I can't heal, but I am so desperately sorry." The weight of the room seems to b…