"Miguel?"
A pair of deep brown eyes met yours, a brow raised as though to ask, "What?"
"Where did you go?" you asked, referring to the way he'd been staring off into the distance instead of watching the movie playing on the TV.
"I'm here," he tried to assure you, but you were unconvinced. There was clearly something bothering him, and you had a feeling you knew what it was.
You considered your words carefully before asking, "Does this have something to do with your daughter?"
The anniversary of when he lost her had been only days before, and Miguel was even more downcast than usual as a result. He'd made it clear that he didn't want to talk about it, and you'd tried not to push too much. However, he was clearly having a rough time, and you couldn't let him suffer alone.
His body stiffened, his jaw tensing. "Don't." he warned.
"Sorry." you apologized sincerely, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "I know you don't want to talk about it. It's just that... I think it might help to share how you feel."
Miguel was silent for a long while. When he finally did speak, you had to strain to hear him. "I don't know how to do that."
"Just say whatever is in your mind, however you can think to say it. It doesn't need to make sense. I'm listening."
He didn't respond immediately, instead staring at the TV screen without actually watching. Finally, he said, "I don't want to feel this way."
"Feel what way?"
"Sad... angry." he said, his words barely above a whisper.
Your eyes softened as you pulled him into your arms, offering him the smallest of comforts. You didn't need to hear the rest for you to know that he was going to tell you.
"She would have loved you." he said quietly, and the way his words came out seemed like a struggle. He let out a ragged breath before continuing. "I wish she had had the chance to meet you."
You remained quiet, gently running your fingers through his hair as you let him get out whatever it was he wanted to say.
"It hurts. It fucking hurts." he said through clenched teeth. "And it doesn't stop. I don't know what else to do to make it stop. Nothing seems to be enough."
"Doesn't stop?" you repeated, hoping that maybe clarification would help him to work through the emotion that he was struggling with.
"The pain," he answered. "It doesn't stop. It's always there. No matter how hard I try to be happy, or to be satisfied, I can't stop it. It's so unfair to you that I'm so fucked up and-"
You didn't allow him to finish that train of thought before cutting him off. "You're not fucked up."
"Yes, I am. I don't even know how you put up with me," he muttered, as he stared off into space again, his body language broadcasting the fact that he didn't want to talk anymore. You'd seen this kind of behavior before in him. You knew when he was trying to push you away.
"I don't 'put up' with you." you corrected Miguel, making him turn his head to look at you. "I love you."
The second you said the words, you knew that you had made the wrong choice. You could almost literally see the wall that immediately came between you and Miguel as he averted his gaze to the TV once again.
"I'm sorry if I said something you weren't ready to hear." you said quickly. "I don't know why I said that. I just wanted you to know that I'm here for you. I'm always here for you. You can always talk to me."
He remained silent, his expression guarded.
"And I don't mind if you don't love me back right now. I'll wait," you continued, but he interrupted you.
"I do." he stated firmly.
"What?" you asked, unable to keep the shock from your voice.
"I do love you." he repeated, his jaw set firmly. It was almost like he was angry about it, like he didn't want to feel for you as deeply as he did. You wanted to say something, but nothing seemed right. All you could manage was, "Oh."
"I do." he said once more, as though he was trying to convince himself.
"I understand." you said softly.
Miguel spared you a short glance, before returning his gaze to the TV once again. "Good."
You waited a beat, but he didn't say anything else. You could tell he intended to pretend the conversation hadn't happened and you would let him. You had to remind yourself that he didn't open up easily, and that pushing him when he clearly wasn't ready to do so would only end in you both getting hurt.
So, you would let him have a little bit of space while he processed his thoughts and emotions. You could revisit this conversation another time.
For now, all that mattered was your fingers combing gently through his hair, and the way he seemed to be slowly relaxing as you silently gave him comfort. You could see his furrowed brows softening, see how his jaw unclenched, and his body melted against yours.
You couldn't heal Miguel's pain. You couldn't erase his trauma or his misplaced guilt. All you could offer him was this brief respite: this tiny moment of peace between the harsh reality of the past and the uncertain future. So, you held on tightly to the man in your arms, offering him the one thing you had to give.
You could only hope it was enough.