Chapter 8 When Standing Begins to Ache

The exhaustion did not arrive all at once.

It crept in slowly, disguising itself as resilience.

Lina learned to wake up already braced, her body anticipating impact before her mind could catch up. She learned to skim headlines without reading them fully, to mute notifications, to recognize the subtle shift in tone when acquaintances asked how she was doing-not out of concern, but curiosity.

"How are you holding up?" had become code for How badly is this hurting you?

She answered politely. Always politely.

But politeness, she was learning, could be a form of self-erasure.

That morning, Lina stood in the shower long after the water had gone lukewarm, forehead pressed against the tile, breathing through a tightness she could no longer name. It wasn't fear exactly. Or anger.

It was fatigue-the kind that settled into the bones, heavy and unrelenting.

When she emerged, wrapped in a towel, her phone buzzed on the counter.

Kai:

Breakfast meeting ran late. I'll come by after.

She stared at the message longer than necessary.

Lina:

Okay.

The simplicity of the reply felt dishonest, but she didn't know what else to say.

By noon, the headlines had shifted again.

This time, they were less speculative and more strategic.

INSIDE THE WOMAN WHO CHANGED HARRINGTON

EXPERT OR OPPORTUNIST?

IS LOVE WORTH THE COST OF A LEGACY?

Lina closed her laptop.

She had promised herself she wouldn't look today.

She had broken that promise by ten-thirty.

Her doorbell rang shortly after.

Miriam stood there, arms full of groceries and concern etched plainly across her face.

"You didn't answer your phone," Miriam said, stepping inside.

"I turned it off," Lina replied.

Miriam nodded approvingly. "Good."

They moved into the kitchen, the normalcy of the motion grounding Lina more than she expected. Miriam unpacked the groceries without asking, filling the space with small, familiar sounds.

"You're thinner," Miriam said gently.

Lina shrugged. "I'm eating."

"That wasn't an accusation."

Silence followed.

Then Lina said, "I'm tired of being brave."

Miriam stopped moving.

She turned slowly. "Say that again."

"I'm tired," Lina repeated, voice cracking. "I don't feel heroic. I feel... hollow."

Miriam crossed the room and pulled her into a hug without permission. Lina stiffened at first, then melted into it, tears pressing dangerously close.

"You're allowed to be tired," Miriam murmured. "Even strong people are."

Lina pulled back slightly. "What if I can't do this anymore?"

"Then you stop," Miriam said simply.

Lina shook her head. "It's not that simple."

"It never is," Miriam replied. "But you don't disappear just because something is hard."

Lina looked away. "I don't know where the line is anymore."

Miriam studied her carefully. "Then maybe it's time you draw one."

Kai arrived later than expected.

He brought flowers-her favorites-and takeout from the small Thai place she loved. Thoughtful. Attentive.

Too late.

Lina hated herself for noticing.

"You didn't have to bring all this," she said as he set the bags down.

"I wanted to," he replied, kissing her cheek. "You okay?"

She hesitated. "I don't know."

He frowned slightly. "What happened?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. "Everything."

They sat at the table, the food between them untouched.

Kai reached for her hand. "Talk to me."

She inhaled slowly. "I feel like I'm being dissected alive, Kai. Every day."

His jaw tightened. "I know."

"No," she said quietly. "You see it. But you don't feel it the same way."

He stilled.

"That's not fair," he said carefully.

She winced. "I know. I'm sorry."

"No," he said. "Say what you mean."

She looked at him then, really looked.

He was calm. Controlled. Still standing tall in rooms that had always welcomed him.

"I feel exposed," she said. "And you feel... strategic."

His brows knit together. "Strategic?"

"You know how to navigate this," she continued. "You've been trained for pressure. For scrutiny. I haven't."

"I didn't ask for this either," he said quietly.

"I know," she replied. "But you're not losing pieces of yourself to survive it."

The words hung heavy.

Kai leaned back slightly. "Do you think I'm untouched by this?"

"I think," Lina said slowly, "that you cope by organizing. By managing. I cope by feeling. And I'm drowning."

He was silent.

"I don't need solutions right now," she added. "I need you to see that this is costing me something you can't fix."

Kai nodded slowly. "I hear you."

But something in his voice felt... distant.

The fracture didn't happen in one moment.

It unfolded across days.

Kai grew busier-meetings, calls, damage control. Lina understood logically. Emotionally, it felt like abandonment.

She canceled two public appearances in one week, citing "health reasons." The truth was she couldn't bear being seen.

Kai didn't argue.

That hurt too.

One evening, Lina sat alone on the couch while Kai took a call in the other room. His voice-measured, confident-floated through the apartment.

"We'll issue a clarification next week," he said. "Yes, I understand the optics."

Optics.

The word burned.

When he returned, she was staring at the wall.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

She laughed softly. "You tell me."

He frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means I don't know where I fit in your plans," she said. "Or if I do at all."

He sat beside her. "You fit everywhere."

"That's not an answer," she replied. "That's reassurance."

"And what's wrong with reassurance?"

"I don't want to be reassured," she said sharply. "I want to be included."

Kai stiffened. "Included how?"

"In the decisions," she said. "In the strategies. In the future you're shaping around us."

"I'm trying to protect you."

"And I'm asking you to trust me," she replied. "Those aren't the same thing."

Silence pressed down.

"I didn't realize you felt shut out," Kai said finally.

"That's the problem," she said quietly. "You didn't realize."

The breaking point came unexpectedly.

A leaked document surfaced online-an internal memo discussing "reputation mitigation" strategies.

Lina read it once.

Then again.

Her name wasn't mentioned. She was referred to as the external influence.

Her chest constricted painfully.

She confronted Kai that night, document open on her phone.

"Did you know about this?" she asked, holding it up.

His expression darkened. "Yes."

"You let them reduce me to a variable," she said, voice shaking. "Without telling me."

"I didn't approve that language," he said quickly.

"But you didn't stop it either."

He exhaled sharply. "Lina, this is corporate protocol. It doesn't mean-"

"It means I'm a risk," she interrupted. "Something to be managed."

"That's not how I see you."

"But it's how your world does," she said. "And you're letting it."

"That's unfair," he snapped. "I'm fighting on multiple fronts."

"And I'm bleeding on one," she shot back.

They stared at each other, the air between them brittle.

"I can't do this tonight," Kai said finally. "I need space to think."

Lina's heart dropped.

"Space," she repeated. "Or distance?"

He hesitated.

That hesitation shattered something.

"Go," she said softly. "Take all the space you need."

Kai looked like he wanted to argue.

He didn't.

The apartment felt unbearably quiet after he left.

Lina sank onto the couch, the weight of everything pressing down.

She wasn't angry anymore.

She was empty.

Kai spent the night in his office.

Sleep eluded him.

Lina's words replayed relentlessly.

You cope by managing. I cope by feeling.

He realized then that he had been building walls while she was standing in the open.

Protection, he understood too late, could feel like control when not shared.

By morning, he knew something had to change.

Lina woke to sunlight and a resolve that surprised her.

She dressed carefully, choosing clothes that felt like armor-not to impress, but to ground herself.

She went to work.

For the first time in days, she returned to her office, to her projects, to the parts of herself that existed before the noise.

By afternoon, she felt steadier.

Still hurt.

But clearer.

Her phone buzzed.

Kai:

Can we talk? Not to fix. To listen.

She closed her eyes.

Then typed.

Lina:

Yes. Tonight.

They met at a quiet café, neutral ground.

Kai arrived first. When Lina entered, he stood instinctively, then stopped himself, unsure.

They sat across from each other.

"I'm sorry," Kai said immediately. "Not as a tactic. As a truth."

She nodded, letting him continue.

"I tried to shield you by carrying everything alone," he said. "I see now that it left you isolated."

Her eyes glistened, but she stayed silent.

"I don't want to manage you," he continued. "I want to partner with you."

"Then stop deciding for me," she said softly. "Decide with me."

He nodded. "I will."

They sat in silence, the kind that allowed breathing.

"I don't need you to be perfect," Lina said after a moment. "I need you to be present."

"I can do that," Kai said. "Even when it's messy."

She studied him. "And when it costs you?"

He didn't hesitate. "Especially then."

Something eased.

Not healed.

But eased.

That night, Lina returned home alone by choice.

She needed space-not to pull away, but to reclaim herself.

Standing on her balcony, she felt the ache still there, but less sharp.

Love, she realized, wasn't just loud in defiance.

Sometimes, it was loud in discomfort.

And if it was going to last, it would have to learn how to listen.