After Elara slowly retreated to her room, her shoulders slightly slumped with exhaustion, David did not follow her immediately. He stared at the closed door before finally taking a deep breath and turning to Robert, who was tidying up his files.
"Robert, do you have a moment?" David asked, his voice lower and less confident than usual.
Robert raised an eyebrow, then nodded. "Of course. There's still coffee in the thermos. Want some?"
David shook his head and sat on the sofa, his body visibly bearing a heavy weight. Robert's office, which usually felt like a tactical field, had now transformed into a space for confession.
"I know, Robert," David began, his eyes fixed on the floor. "I know in Paris... Elara's feelings were still for Kael. That's what made her so distant, even when we were there together."
A brief silence. Robert did not interrupt, only poured himself coffee and listened.
"And in the midst of all that, I did the unforgivable. I cheated with Natasha," David said, his voice hoarse. "She's my ex, and even though the situation at the time was... complicated, I also know my mistake was fatal. I was weak. I let my emotions and jealousy take control of me. And it destroyed everything."
David looked down at his clenched hands. "I'm angry at myself. I'm angry at the situation. But above all, I know I'm the one who ruined my marriage."
Robert listened calmly, his professional face softening into a look of humble sympathy. "David, admitting your mistake is the first step. But in Elara's heart, explanations about 'circumstances' or 'opportunities' may no longer matter. What remains is the fact that trust has been shattered."
"And now," David continued, his voice full of despair, "she's here, with me. But I'm afraid, Robert. I'm afraid she's only staying out of guilt, or because of the pressure of this trial. Not because of... love. I forced her to come back, by any means, because I can't imagine life without her. But what's the point of winning the trial, winning the legal battle, if I end up losing her heart forever?"
Robert took a sip of his coffee, then set the cup down slowly. "David, are you asking for my advice as a lawyer, or as someone older who has perhaps seen more of life's struggles?"
"Both."
"Alright," Robert sighed. "As a lawyer: Our focus is winning this trial. That will protect Elara, and you, from the real threats out there. Matters of the heart can be dealt with later. But," he emphasized, "as a human being watching you two... you cannot rebuild trust with half-confessions. If and when you ever speak to Elara about this, you must be prepared to accept full responsibility for your choices, without hiding behind circumstances."
David nodded slowly, rubbing his tired face. "So, what should I do?"
"First, help her get through this trial as a partner, not a guard. Second, when the right time comes—after all of this is over—speak honestly. Admit everything with humility. And third, prepare yourself for all possibilities. Life after this trial, whatever the outcome, must be built on truth, not on an illusion you've forced."
Robert's advice hung in the air, heavy and honest.
David nodded again, shattered but perhaps for the first time, a little clearer. The truth he had to face turned out to lie not only in the legal files of the trial but also in the bitterest admission: that he himself had wounded their relationship, with a choice he knew was wrong.
"Now," Robert said, standing up, "get some rest. Tomorrow is a long day. Face it with a cool head and an open heart."
David walked out of Robert's room, his steps heavy. As he passed the door to Elara's room, he paused for a moment. His hand almost knocked, but then he held back. Perhaps, for tonight, giving her space was the only form of love he could offer sincerely.
Behind the door, Elara sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her silent phone. Her thoughts drifted to Kael, to the freedom she once felt, and to the man on the other side of the door who loved her in a way that felt so binding.
Two wounded hearts, separated only by a wooden door, yet seemingly divided by an ocean and mountains of past mistakes they must climb.