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Chapter 45 – The Man I Used to Be
Damon's POV
Life had never been this peaceful.
I sat on the couch, Arya curled beside me with her head resting against my chest, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on my arm. Across the room, our son Liam was on the floor with his building blocks, stacking towers only to knock them down and giggle to himself like he'd just invented comedy.
Home.
Not just a place, but a feeling. A truth.
For the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to be content — to not chase, to not control, to not manipulate or demand. Just… be. And to love what I had.
But even as the joy filled every quiet corner of this house, regret haunted me in the background.
I looked down at Arya, her soft breathing calming my every thought. Her presence used to be something I overlooked, treated like it was owed to me. But now I knew better.
She was never mine to take for granted.
And yet, I had.
The man I used to be still lived in my memory — cold, cruel, driven by pride and blind expectations. I'd hurt her. Over and over. I'd made her feel like she was just another possession in my carefully crafted world. I hadn't seen her — not the real her. Not the artist who felt deeply. Not the woman who only wanted love. Not the mother of my son.
I remembered the nights she'd cried quietly in bed beside me, thinking I was asleep.
God.
I hated him — that version of me. That fool who let his ego drive away the only person who ever mattered.
Liam laughed again, drawing both our attention. Arya lifted her head and smiled, her eyes meeting mine. Those eyes — one dark, one light — still made my heart ache. Not just with love, but with guilt too.
"Are you okay?" she asked gently, her voice barely above a whisper.
I forced a smile. "Yeah. Just thinking."
She frowned slightly, studying me the way only she could. "You've been quiet all morning."
I hesitated, then pulled her closer. "I was just... remembering how stupid I used to be."
Her eyes softened.
"Back then," I continued, voice low, "I didn't know how to love properly. I thought control meant care. I thought silence was strength. I thought being a good husband meant providing money and a roof — not actually being present."
"You were lost," she said simply, brushing her fingers across my cheek.
I looked away. "I was cruel, Arya. I pushed you away. I ignored your heart. I acted like I owned you instead of cherishing you."
"You're not that man anymore, Damon."
"But I was," I whispered. "And you suffered for it."
Tears stung the back of my eyes. I hadn't meant to be emotional — not in front of her, not now — but the truth was heavy, and it had been sitting on my chest for too long.
"I wake up beside you every morning and still can't believe you're here," I confessed. "Sometimes I wonder if I even deserve it."
She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. "We both made mistakes. But we also made it through. That means something."
I held her tighter, breathing her in. She smelled like paint and jasmine — her signature scent. "I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."
"You already are," she said.
I looked at her, truly looked at her. She wasn't the same woman I married — she was stronger now. Wiser. But still so gentle. Still so full of love, even for someone like me.
"You forgave me," I whispered, the wonder in my voice making her smile.
"I never stopped loving you," she replied. "Even when I hated you... my heart never let go."
Her words broke me open in a way nothing else could. I pulled her onto my lap and just held her there, letting the weight of everything we'd been through wrap around us like a second skin.
Liam came running up to us and jumped onto the couch, grinning. "Daddy, look! I built a big tower!"
I smiled down at him, ruffling his hair. "I saw. You're getting really good at it."
He giggled and nestled between us, his tiny body fitting perfectly in our arms.
This was everything I'd once been too blind to see — a family. A future. A woman who had always been more than enough. And a child who looked at me like I was the world, not knowing how flawed I used to be.
Arya leaned her head on my shoulder again. "You've changed, Damon."
"Because of you," I murmured.
"Because of us."
And she was right. We both had grown. We had both healed. And though the road had been messy and painful, it had brought us here — to this quiet Sunday morning, wrapped in blankets and laughter and second chances.
As Liam yawned and leaned against his mother, I reached for her hand and squeezed it gently.
"I love you, Arya."
She turned to me, eyes shining. "I love you too."
And this time, I didn't doubt it. I didn't question if it would last.
Because this — her, Liam, our home — was the only truth I ever needed.
And I would never, ever take it for granted again.