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Novel Catalog
Chapter 47
John stood frozen for a moment, caught between the weight of Cordy’s words and the vulnerability in her expression. Her quiet sobs were like a silent plea, a raw crack in the armor she had so carefully built over the years. He hadn’t expected this.
His chest tightened, and instinctively, he moved closer, not knowing what else to do. She needed comfort, but he knew she wouldn’t want pity. She didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for her—she never had. Yet, she had let down her guard, if only for a moment, and that was something he couldn’t ignore.
He gently reached out, brushing the stray hair away from her face. His hand lingered for a moment, almost hesitating. But when Cordy’s eyes met his, his heart did something strange—almost a silent understanding. He didn’t need to say anything; the words would have felt empty, inadequate against the heaviness of what she was going through. Instead, he simply moved closer, adjusting her blanket so she was comfortable again.
“You’re not alone,” he murmured quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, but somehow it felt like the only thing that could possibly ease the silent pain she carried. “Not anymore.”
Cordy’s eyelids fluttered slightly at his words, though she didn’t fully open them. She let out a shuddered breath, a tear escaping despite herself. “I thought I was…,” she whispered more to herself than to him. “I thought I was stronger.”
“You are,” John said, his voice steady, firm. “Stronger than you realize.”
Cordy shook her head lightly, a faint smile pulling at the corner of her lips, but the smile was filled with sadness. “I don’t feel strong,” she admitted, her voice small.
John hesitated for a moment longer, then carefully lifted her hand, gently threading his fingers through hers. “You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he said, his voice softer now, trying to convey a sense of peace. “You don’t have to carry everything on your own.”
His words hung in the air, charged with a kind of weight that neither of them could escape. He didn’t want to push her, but the way she looked at him—eyes still glistening with unshed tears—made his heart ache. It was almost as if she was waiting for him to give her permission to fall apart, to stop holding everything in.
Cordy closed her eyes once more, letting out a soft sigh. “Maybe I’ve just been hiding from it all this time,” she murmured, as if speaking aloud to herself. She paused, then added with a hint of humor in her voice, “Maybe I’m not as good at it as I thought.”
John didn’t know how to respond to that, so he simply stayed by her side, holding her hand, offering whatever silent support he could. In that moment, the distance between them seemed to close.
And although neither of them said it out loud, something shifted in that room—like the weight of unspoken words had finally been laid bare.
Later, after a while, Cordy drifted back to sleep, her breathing steady once again. John, still seated by her side, watched over her with quiet patience, not knowing how long he would stay, or what this moment truly meant. All he knew was that he couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet.
As the night passed and the room fell into stillness, John stayed close, guarding her in his own way, silently vowing that no matter what, she wouldn’t have to face her past or her pain alone.