Alan had always believed love wasn't for him.
From as far back as he could remember, the word "family" had been a hollow sound, like a song he could hum but never quite understand. His parents had fought like thunder and lightning until one day the storm ended—his mother left, his father followed months later. Neither looked back. Relatives passed him around like a package no one wanted to keep.
Friends? He didn't really have any. His quietness made people uncomfortable, his awkwardness easy to mock. Teachers said he would never amount to much. He grew up on the sidelines of his own life, convinced that affection was for others—fortunate others.
He saw love only from a distance. A couple holding hands on a park bench. A mother fixing her child's scarf against the winter wind. Actors on a movie screen kissing beneath fireworks. These were spectacles for people destined to be cherished. Not for him.
He convinced himself he wasn't one of them.
He learned to survive alone. To eat meals in silence. To laugh only at jokes on the radio. To put himself to sleep with the thought that maybe tomorrow, just maybe, things wouldn't feel so heavy.
Then one day, in the most ordinary of places, he met her.
Elaine.
She was shining like the first rays of sun on a snowy winter morning—warm where everything else had been cold. She had the kind of smile that could soften even the hardest of hearts. Where others overlooked him, she noticed him.
The first time she laughed at his terrible joke, Alan almost thought she was mocking him. But no, her laughter was genuine, bright, almost musical. When he spoke about songs no one else cared about, she listened like each lyric mattered. When he cried one night after too many bottled-up memories cracked open, she didn't leave. She stayed.
When he whispered, "I feel like I'm just a black spot on the earth's clean white slate," she shook her head and took his hand.
"Maybe you're not a spot," she said softly. "Maybe you're the ink that writes the story."
For the first time in his life, Alan felt something strange yet intoxicating. He felt seen.
Elaine loved him. Not tolerated him. Not pitied him. She truly, deeply loved him.
They got married in a humble ceremony. No grandeur, no endless lines of guests. Just her family and a few of her friends. Alan's side was empty—his parents estranged, his relatives uninterested, his old friends gone.
And yet, for Alan, it was nothing short of a miracle. Strangers smiled at him with genuine warmth. They celebrated him not for his achievements, not for his wealth, but simply because he was the man Elaine had chosen. That meant everything.
Every morning, he would wake beside her and whisper a silent thank you to the universe. Every night, he fell asleep marveling at his luck.
He wasn't wealthy. He wasn't charming at parties. He didn't smoke or drink or brag. What he did have was love, vast and endless. He loved Elaine with every fiber of his being.
He left notes for her on the kitchen counter—Don't forget your lunch. I love you.
He cooked her favorite meals, even if it took hours.
He sang badly in the shower, making her roll her eyes and laugh.
He told her the same silly jokes, just to see that smile.
For a while, that was enough.
But time is a quiet thief.
At first, it was subtle. Elaine started coming home later from work, muttering about deadlines. When Alan asked her to listen to a song he discovered, she waved him off. When he tried one of his corny jokes, she smiled politely but her eyes were elsewhere.
Alan noticed. He always noticed.
One evening, he prepared her favorite dish—ravioli. He set the table with care, lit a candle, and waited eagerly. When she walked in, her shoulders slumped with exhaustion.
"Not tonight, Alan. I had a long day."
It wasn't just her words. It was the way she said his name—Alan—serious, distant. She hadn't called him that in years.
The food grew cold. He sat in silence, whispering to himself, It's okay. Tomorrow will be better.
But tomorrow wasn't better. Neither was the day after.
At her office, her colleagues whispered. "Your husband isn't a real man," they said. "A real man drinks whiskey, smokes cigars, takes his woman out to parties. Alan? He's boring. Too simple. Too soft."
The words wormed into Elaine's mind like poison. She began to believe them.
One afternoon at work, Alan called her.
"Just wanted to hear you," he said, his voice warm, as always.
Elaine smiled faintly, about to answer, when a male colleague leaned on her desk, his tone playful, almost flirtatious.
"You're glowing today, Elaine. Must be hiding some secret."
Alan heard it. Every word.
Elaine froze. She forgot to cut the call.
Her friends joined in, teasing her. "He's more manly than your husband," they laughed. "If you want to spend time with him, we'll cover for you."
Her heart raced. And then, in a decision that would ruin everything, she gave in.
That night, she went to the man's home. She stayed in his bed. She returned at one in the morning.
When she stepped inside her house, she was stunned. The room was warm. Food was laid out. Her favorite show was playing on the TV. Alan sat waiting. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
He knows, she thought, her stomach twisting. No, that's impossible. My friends covered for me. He couldn't know.
But guilt clawed at her.
And it didn't stop there. She went back to the other man. Again and again.
Alan knew. He didn't confront her. He just… loved her harder.
Days turned into weeks. Alan's heart was breaking, but his devotion never wavered. He still cooked. He still left notes. He still asked about her day, even as she grew restless and cold.
Then, one evening, she came home to find a note on the dining table.
Going to my parents. Call me.
She stared at it. A part of her wondered why he wanted her to call instead of just waiting. Another part dismissed it.
She placed the note aside. She didn't call.
She told herself she liked the silence. Liked the space.
He'd be back in the morning.
But morning came, and he didn't return.
At work the next day, Elaine noticed strange looks. The older staff gazed at her with pity. Some friends avoided her eyes. Her boss approached gently.
"You didn't have to come in today. You should grieve in peace."
Her heart lurched. "What do you mean?"
The boss frowned. "You… don't know?"
Confusion churned in her chest. It wasn't until a friend pulled her aside and whispered that her world shattered.
"There was an accident last night. A car crash. The body was barely recognizable."
Elaine collapsed. The room spun. Denial poured from her lips. "No. No, that's wrong. That's not Alan."
But the silence confirmed what her heart already knew.
She stumbled home in a daze. The house was quiet. The food on the counter was untouched. The air felt heavy.
Her hands shook as she checked her phone. Dozens of missed calls—from his family, from friends, from numbers she didn't know.
At the very bottom was a single unread message.
From Alan.
She opened it.
"You didn't call :("
Her breath broke. Tears crashed down her face. She clutched the phone to her chest, sobbing his name.
But there was another message, just above it.
"I knew love wasn't for me. I'm sorry for ruining your life."
Her knees gave out.
He knew.
He knew she had cheated. He died knowing. He carried that knowledge into the fire.
She screamed. Her lungs clawed for air. Her fists pounded the floor until her knuckles bled.
"WHY? WHY?" she cried, begging the walls, the ceiling, the empty house for an answer.
But no answer came.
She stumbled to the living room, her eyes wild. Every photo that had once shown their faces together—every smiling memory—had been cut. Alan had carefully removed himself, leaving her alone in every frame.
Her sobs broke into choking gasps. She fell against the wall, sliding down until she was crumpled on the floor.
She had promised him she would never be like the people who hurt him. That she would never abandon him. That she would love him.
And she had broken every promise.
Elaine became the very thing she swore she'd never become.
A horrible human being.
In the nights that followed, Elaine stopped sleeping. She wandered the house barefoot, replaying every moment. His smile when she laughed at his jokes. The way he hummed while cooking. The warmth of his hand when he held hers.
Now, the silence was unbearable.
She realized too late that she had been loved by a man who gave her everything. A man who asked for nothing but her presence.
And she hadn't even given him that.
Now, all she had left was the echo of a final message.
"You didn't call :("
A love too gentle for the world. A man too soft for its cruelty.
And a woman who would spend the rest of her life haunted by five words she could never erase.