Henry's POV
I stormed out of Camila's apartment, my chest tight with frustration. I couldn't believe she was so determined to raise our child on her own.
She was so stubborn. I had every right to be involved, to be there for my child, and I refused to be pushed away.
I hailed a cab back to the hotel, my mind reeling. Anger simmered beneath the surface, not just at her refusal, but at the helplessness that gnawed at me.
She should be glad I was willing to step up, to take responsibility yet she was shutting me out, as if my intentions didn't matter.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake her words from my mind. Camila had always been strong and independent. I admire that about her.
But this? This felt like she was building walls too high for me to climb. I wanted to be there for her, for the baby, but she had closed the door in my face.
Back at the hotel, I went straight to my room and collapsed on the bed, running a hand through my hair in frustration. My mind wouldn't stop spinning with thoughts of Camila and our unborn child. I felt angry, confused, and more than anything, lost.
Should I talk to her again? Or give her the space she so clearly wanted? Whatever I chose, I had to tread carefully. I knew that much.
Camila was not someone who could be cornered or pressured. She wouldn't bend easily.
I paced the room like a caged animal, the frustration building with every step. Why was she pushing me away? I pulled the small velvet box from my pocket, flipping it open to reveal the engagement ring nestled inside.
It was supposed to be a symbol of my commitment to her, to our child, to our future. But now it felt heavy, almost mocking.
Replaying our conversation in my head only fueled my turmoil. Her rejection echoed, sharp and cold. I had hoped the proposal would show her how serious I was, how much I wanted to be a part of this. But it backfired. Miserably.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the ring, my chest tight. Didn't I deserve a say in this? Wasn't this my child too?
Frustration churned inside me, but I forced myself to a decision. Maybe pushing her wasn't the answer.
Maybe just maybe she needed space more than she needed my insistence. If I kept pressing, I might only push her further away.
I left the room, desperate to clear my head. Wandering through the streets, the engagement ring weighed heavily in my pocket, a constant reminder of my failure to reach her.
I ended up at a small bar nearby and ordered a scotch, hoping the sharp burn would numb my thoughts. But as I sipped, my mind stayed tangled in the same loop. Why couldn't I make her see that I wanted to stand beside her?
At the table next to me, a couple laughed easily over their drinks, completely absorbed in their own little world.
I couldn't help but envy them. How were they so carefree, while I felt like I was drowning?
I downed the rest of my drink in one gulp and left the bar, still restless. The city had quieted under the cover of night, and as I wandered, I found myself standing in front of an old church. Something about its quiet presence drew me in.
I stepped inside, the cool air brushing against my skin like a balm. The pews were empty, the flickering glow of electric candles casting soft light across the room. I sank into a seat, the silence wrapping around me.
Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply, letting the stillness calm my thoughts. Was I really thinking about this the right way? I wanted so badly to be part of Camila's life, part of our child's life, but maybe my approach had been all wrong.
Maybe, without realizing it, I had been thinking more about my rights than her feelings.
I looked up at the stained glass windows, their colors muted in the dim light. I wasn't a religious man, but at that moment, I found myself whispering a silent prayer. Please... give me the strength and wisdom to make the right choice.
A surprising sense of calm settled over me, softening the storm inside. I knew what I had to do.
I would give Camila the space she needed, no matter how difficult it was for me. She deserved that much.
And maybe, just maybe, once she had time to breathe, she might see me not as an intruder, but as someone who genuinely cared.
Honestly, I hadn't given much thought to her feelings before. I'd been so focused on doing what I thought was right, on being responsible, that I'd overlooked the fact that what she really needed was understanding.
I was starting to care about Camila more than I had expected, maybe even more than I wanted to admit.
But showing my feelings? That was never my strong suit. I was always about responsibility, about duty, not romance. Maybe that's why she was so angry with me.
But I wasn't giving up.