Pieces Of Us: Ch. V. — From Pieces To Whole
Plot: After a horrible accident, Kylian Mbappé loses one whole year of his memories. Turns out it was the year he met and married you in. Will you be able to win him back?
Taglist: @jkkyks @jkkymb-10 @hood-jabi @haartemis
You knew your gut was right.
It always is when it comes to him.
The envelope lay on the floor like a dropped blade, the corner bent where the door had chewed it through the mail slot. You don’t even remember walking toward it — just the sound of your heartbeat in your ears, the way your fingertips went cold before they even touched it.
The paper was thick, expensive. The kind of stationary lawyers use when they want you to feel the weight of their words. You didn’t even have to read much before your throat closed.
Annulment.
Mutual agreement.
His signature.
The ink was a knife, clean and merciless.
Your stomach knotted so hard you thought you’d be sick. The last few days flickered through your head — his mouth on yours, his hands clutching you like you were something precious, the quiet I missed you murmured against your neck. All of it turned to ash in seconds.
Had it all been a lie?
Had you been a lie?
Your chest burned, but not with sadness — it was something heavier, darker. The kind that makes you want to scream until your voice shreds.
Your palm hit the table before your mind even knew why. Hard. Flat. Like you needed the wood to keep you upright.
The edges of the world tilted. Your stomach churned violently, heat rushing to your face, cold dripping down your spine.
The letter lay there. Innocent. Thin. Just paper and ink.
But your name on the front felt like it had been carved instead of written.
Each word was a stone in your throat.
Each sentence another nail in the floor beneath you, pinning you to the spot.
The date.
Weeks ago.
Before the kisses. Before his hands in your hair, his voice breaking against your skin. Before the soft “stay” whispered into your neck at 2 a.m.
Or maybe… during.
The nausea spiked so hard you had to lean over the table.
You looked around your bedroom — your — the bed you’d fallen asleep in just hours ago, his shirt still crumpled on your side from the night before. The scent of him still clung to the air. It all felt poisoned now, too full of ghosts you didn’t want to see.
He’d chosen this. Chosen to erase you. And you… you had let him back in, let him take parts of you you swore you’d never give to anyone again.
Your hand found your keys. Your body moved without asking your head for permission.
Jacket. Door.
The hallway air was sharp and cold, and you welcomed it because at least it kept you from choking.
You didn’t cry. Not yet.
You couldn’t.
If you did, you wouldn’t be able to walk out the door.
You didn’t know where you were going. You just knew you couldn’t be here. Not with that paper lying open like it was waiting for him to come home and explain.
The door clicks shut behind me, but the apartment feels… wrong.
Still. Hollow.
Then I see it.
Right there on the floor, under the table’s shadow—half-crumpled, like it had been thrown or dropped in a hurry.
My name. Her name. Black ink like a scar.
I don’t even have to open it.
I know what this is.
Still, my fingers tremble as they tear the seal.
“Petition for Annulment.”
The words blur, but not enough. Not enough to keep me from seeing the date.
Not enough to keep me from seeing my own fucking signature.
My pulse spikes—hammering, burning.
The room tilts.
Her shoes aren’t by the door.
“Y/n?”
It’s barely a sound.
No answer.
I check the kitchen—empty. The bathroom—empty.
Upstairs—nothing but our unmade bed, sheets cold on her side.
Her perfume lingers in the air, faint, like she’s only just walked out.
Or maybe like she’s never coming back.
The papers slip from my grip, hitting the floor with a dull slap.
Something in my chest snaps.
I’m already moving. Out the door. Down the stairs.
Running like I can outrun the image of her walking away.
Cold air hits my face the second I’m outside, but it’s nothing compared to the ice in my chest.
I’m running before I even think about where.
Phone in my hand. Her name on the screen.
One ring. Two. Three.
Voicemail.
“Y/n, pick up—just pick up—”
I hang up, call again.
I’m scanning streets, doorways, cafés she likes.
Every corner feels too wide, too empty.
Every stranger’s face is wrong.
Flashes start coming—
Her laugh, head tilted back in the kitchen light.
Her hands on my cheeks, pulling me in after a match.
The stupid inside jokes we swore no one else would understand.
The fight where she’d cried so hard she lost her voice for a day.
The proposal—my voice breaking when I asked, her fingers shaking when she said yes.
I call my mother. No.
Her family members. No.
Her friends. No.
Even Ana from the bookstore. Nothing.
My lungs are on fire. My legs burn, but I don’t stop.
Every “no” is a nail.
Every unanswered call another rope tightening around my chest.
I run. Feet pounding the pavement, heart a wild drum in my chest. Faces blur past me, strangers—some eyes wide with surprise, others whispering my name, but I don’t hear. Couldn’t hear. It all feels distant, like a fever dream where the world sways and shimmers beneath my skin.
Tears sting my eyes, hot and relentless, blurring the streets into rivers of light and shadow. I remember. I remember everything.
Every laugh, every fight, every stolen kiss that burned and healed. I remember the weight of her hand in mine, the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips. Memories tear at me, raw and sharp, unrelenting.
I cry then. Right there, in the middle of the crowd. Because losing her isn’t just losing a person—it is losing myself.
I slow at the corner of our street, bent double, breath tearing out of me.
I check my phone again—nothing.
It hits me, sudden and brutal.
I lost her.
For nothing.
The walk back feels like penance.
Every step is a hammer to my ribs—
Too late. Too late. Too late.
By the time I reach the door, my chest is tight enough to tear.
I brace myself for silence. For an empty house.
But she’s there.
Sitting on the suitcase like it’s the last piece of ground she can claim.
Her fingers are tangled in the zipper pull, twisting it back and forth, back and forth.
Not looking at me. Not looking anywhere.
“Y/n—”
Her head lifts just enough for her eyes to graze mine before they drop again.
Her voice is low, but it’s all edges, no softness.
“You know… all this time, I thought I got you back.”
Her laugh is thin, ugly with hurt. “I thought we were fine. Better than fine. You were so… loving. So here. I thought…”
She swallows, hard. “I thought I had you.”
I take a step closer.
“Y/n,—”
Her shoulders flinch. “Don’t.”
“I let myself believe the worst was over. That maybe, somehow, we could be… us again.”
Her breath catches. She shakes her head like she hates herself for saying it out loud.
“But no. Turns out… I’m just convenient when you need me.”
“Don’t say that.”
“No, tell me, Kylian. Was it fun? Pretending everything was okay? Smiling, kissing me, holding me… making love to me—” her voice cracks “—while knowing you had already signed my life away?”
“I didn’t know—”
“Then why is your signature on that damn paper?” she snaps, eyes finally locking on mine.
It knocks the air out of me.
The room tilts. My pulse explodes in my ears.
“I—It was before—”
“Before WHAT?” she cuts in. “Before you decided I was worth keeping? Before you remembered I’m not just some… stranger you got stuck with?”
I step forward again, hands out like I can grab the words before they hit me.
“It’s not like that—”
“It’s exactly like that!” she spits, shoving the suitcase upright. “God, I was so stupid. I thought this—” she gestures between us, wild, shaking, “—meant something again. That you were here because you wanted to be.”
“I do want to be—”
“LIES.” Her voice cracks but rises again, shattering. It’s drowning me out. “I was here for you. Every. Fucking. Step. When you lost consciousness, when the doctors didn’t know if you’d wake up, when your hands wouldn’t even grip a glass of water — I stayed. I held you when you woke up in a panic at three in the morning, I stayed.”
“I know.” I whisper. Ashamed of myself.
“I spoke to you when you couldn’t speak back. I was patient when you woke up and didn’t know me.”
“I know—” I try again, but she isn’t done.
“I watched you forget our life, piece by piece, and I still hoped. I thought if I was patient enough, if I loved you enough, you’d find your way back to me. And maybe for a second I thought you did.” Her voice shakes now, but she doesn’t stop. “But no. You remembered enough to take me to bed, but not enough to choose me.”
“I know, Y/N.”
“I swallowed my pain so you wouldn’t feel guilty for forgetting me. I stayed.”
“I KNOW!” my own voice rises, raw and desperate. “ I know.... I KNOW. I was... am... a terrible man. I did everything wrong. I pushed you away when I should have held you closer. I let the fear, the pain, the silence fill the space where you should have been the only thing. I was lost... I’m lost!”
The room feels smaller. The weight of our past and present crash between us like a storm.
“You messed up, Kylian.” Her voice cracks, but she doesn’t back down. Her eyes stay locked on mine, wet and furious. “Big time.”
She sniffs her nose, and presses her tears to her lower lid. “God, this feels horrible.” She shakes her head. “To be in the same room as you, and still feel like I’m alone.”
The words punch through my chest.
I step toward her, my voice rough. “Don’t you think I feel it too? Every damn day. I’m right there, looking at you, and it’s like I’m on the other side of glass—close enough to see you, but not touch you. And I hate it. I hate me for it.”
Her breath shudders, but instead of softening, she presses on, voice breaking like something inside her finally gives way.
“I hate that this was easy for you,” she says, almost choking on the words. “That you could just… give up on us before you even gave us a chance.”
She shakes her head, hands on her hips, tears spilling freely now. “Like all we’ve been through—every sleepless night, every promise, every damn heartbeat—meant nothing to you. Like I meant nothing.”
“I’m so sorry.” I drop my gaze to the floor, feeling shattered and devastated. How do you pick up glass shards and put them back in place?
I look at her.
“I didn’t know what to do. The papers — I signed before I remembered you again. Before I knew what I was feeling. I thought it was over. I thought I had lost you for good.”
She looks up, eyes blazing now. “You touched me. You—. You kissed me time and time again. You—”
“Yes! Because even when I was broken, I needed to feel you. Needed to hold on to something. I don’t want you to leave. Not like this. I—” I sigh.
Her gaze shifts to the side, as if the weight of looking at me was too much.
“You were supposed to be my safe place,” she whispers, and her words felt like a blade wrapped in silk. “But instead, you became the quiet that drowned me.”
For a long second, we just stare at each other, both breathing like we’d run marathons, the silence buzzing with all the things we don’t know how to say.
“I gave and I gave.. And now… I’m empty.”
She takes a slow step closer—not toward me, but toward the inevitable—her hand trembling as it reaches for mine.
For a heartbeat, I thought she was going to hold it.
Instead, she slips the ring from her finger.
The small circle of gold was still warm from her skin when she presses it into my palm, curling my fingers around it with a tenderness that felt more like a goodbye than a gesture of love.
Her eyes glisten, but her mouth twists into something sharp, final.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
The words hit harder than a fist.
She grips the handle, yanks the suitcase toward the door.
“No. No—” My voice is raw now. “Don’t. Y/n—stop—STOP—”
She doesn’t turn.
“I LOVE YOU!”
It tears out of me like a wound splitting open, loud enough to echo off the walls, to make my throat burn.
She freezes mid-step.
The suitcase still between us.
Her shoulders rigid, head bowed.
The silence that follows feels like a coin spinning—waiting to see which side it lands on.
“I love you,” I confess again, quieter this time, as if saying it softer might make it truer, make it reach her the way I need it to.
She freezes in the doorway, her back still to me. The suitcase handle is gripped so tightly her knuckles were visibly stone hard. I could see her breathing—shallow, uneven—like the syllables had landed somewhere between her ribs and refused to move.
Slowly, she turns. Her eyes are red, not from anger, but from something older, heavier.
“Don’t,” she whispers. “Don’t use that now, not when it’s the only thing that could make me stay.”
I take a step toward her, my hand still clenched around the ring she’d given back. “I didn’t remember everything. I didn’t remember enough. But I remember the way your laugh felt in my chest. I remember your hands on my face like they were keeping me alive. And I remember—” my breath hitches, “—that it’s you. It’s always been you.”
Her lips tremble, but she shekes her head, and I could feel her retreating even while she stands there.
“It’s not enough,” she says. “Not after everything you’ve signed away. Not after the moment you made it clear I wasn’t worth fighting for.”
She turns again. One step. Two. The suitcase wheels hummed against the floor.
I stayed in the doorway, clutching the ring so tightly it bites into my skin. My chest is screaming at me to move, to run, to fall to my knees if I had to.
Because I had told her I loved her.
And it still might not be enough.
I step closer, voice rough but steady, words tumbling out like a flood I’d held back too long.
“Do you remember our first kiss?” I ask. And she stops in her tracks. “.. How my hands shook because I was terrified I’d break you? But you smiled like you were daring me to try. I swear, in that moment, everything in me came alive—like the world finally made sense.”
Her breath is still, eyes flickering with a storm she tries to hide. I see the tremble in her jaw, the way her fingers clenche at her sides—years of pain and hope tangled in her silence.
“The night I asked you to marry me—I wasn’t just asking for your hand, I was asking for forever. I dreamed of our life, every messy, beautiful second of it. Our trip to the coast, how we stayed up until dawn talking about everything and nothing. How you traced my birthmark with your fingertips, like you were loving my flaws too.”
Her gaze softens, tears gathering like fragile glass, threatening to shatter the walls she’d built. The weight of my memories seems to press against her chest—some comfort, some ache.
“I know I forgot parts, and that breaks me every day. But I remember loving you, fiercely and without apology. And I know we were planning to have a family—our little chaos and laughter, our home filled with you and me.”
Her lips part, trembling. The vulnerability she usually hides so well spills over now—pain, longing, confusion all written in the soft curve of her brow and the slow, shuddering exhale she can’t quite hold back.
My voice drops to a whisper, almost a prayer.
“I still want all of that. I want us.”
She looks at me then—really looks—like she is trying to find the man she’d loved beneath the shadows and silence. Her eyes glisten with tears that don’t fall yet, heavy with the weight of what we’d lost and the fragile hope of what could still be.
For a long moment, the space between us holds everything unspoken. Then, quietly, I reache out—fingers trembling—as if touching her might anchor her to this moment, to the possibility of us again.
My hand moves almost of its own accord, reaching out to brush a single cold tear away. The warmth of my palm against her skin is electric — a silent promise, a question without words.
Her breath hitches again, but this time it is softer, less guarded. The walls she’d built tremble, cracking under the weight of everything we’d said and felt. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she leans into the touch — as if rediscovering a language only we speak.
I swallow the lump in my throat and whisper, “I know I’ve hurt you. More than I can bear to admit. But this time… this time, I want to be different.”
Her eyes close for a moment, eyelashes resting against her cheeks, and when she opens them, they shimmer with something fragile — hope, maybe. Or forgiveness.
I carefully put my hand on the small of her back.
“I want to show you,” I say, voice rough with longing, “that I can love you better. That I’m not the man who walked away.”
She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them slowly, her gaze soft but guarded.
“I don’t know if I can trust that love again,” she whispered, voice breaking.
I swallow hard, feeling the weight of her words settle deep in my chest. “I mean it. Every word. Every breath.”
And then, without another word, I pull her close — not to claim her, but to hold her. To hold us.
In that silence, tangled in each other’s arms, all the fear and pain and doubt felt… a little less heavy.
I let my fingertips linger on her skin—an unspoken promise that I am here, fully present this time.
“I’ll earn your trust,” I vow quietly. “Every day. No shortcuts, no empty words. Just... me, trying.”
She swallows hard, her eyes glistening as she searches my face for truth. The weight of everything between us—pain, hope, fear—seems to press into the silence.
But then... But then her body softens against mine, the tension melting away like ice beneath the sun. Her hand finds mine, fingers trembling but entwining.
“I’m scared,” she admits, voice barely more than a breath. “I am so scared to give away my heart again.”
I lean closer, my forehead resting gently against hers. “Let me love you right this time. Let me be the man you deserve.”
Her lips part in a fragile, hesitant smile, a tear slipping free and trailing down her cheek. I kiss it away with the gentlest touch, as if to seal the fragile thread of hope we’d just woven.
“I love you.” I say.
For the first time in so long, the future doesn’t feel like a question. It feels like a promise.
“ And I know you love me back, because you’re still here,”, I coo. “After everything... you didn’t leave.”
Her fingers tremble as they cling to mine, a quiet fragility in the way she holds on — not quite ready, but not pulling away either. I lean closer, my breath mingling with hers, the space between us charges with all the unsaid.
I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “I stayed,” I say, my voice rough with everything I am not saying. “Because even when I was lost… you were my home.”
Her eyes well up, tears glistening like morning dew. She releases my hand slowly, fingertips lingering against my skin as if afraid this moment is too fragile to hold.
“Can I…?” My voice is barely more than a whisper. “Can I kiss you? Can I kiss my wife?”
Her eyes flicker, wide and searching, vulnerability lays bare in that single glance. For a heartbeat, she says nothing.
I lean closer. My lips hover, a whisper away, asking for permission without words. When they finally meet, it’s gentle—a soft press, a tender exploration—like rediscovering a melody long forgotten.
Her lips part, hesitating, then she sighs against me, a fragile surrender. My mouth moves with a careful urgency, tracing the curve of her lower lip, memorizing the taste of salt and vulnerability.
My hands slide from her cheeks to the small of her back, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us. She melts against me, heartbeat syncing with mine, every breath a promise unspoken but felt.
I deepen the kiss, lips parting hers, tongue tracing slow, reverent paths. It’s messy and perfect—full of longing, regret, and hope all tangled in one desperate kiss.
Then, so soft it almost slips away like a secret, I breathe,
“I love you.”
Her chest rises and falls, a tremble of warmth blooming where there was once only cold.
She closes her eyes and lets herself believe.
I close the distance again with reverence, my lips brushing hers softly at first — tentative, gentle, like the fragile hope we both cling to. She trembles against me, her breath hitching in the quiet surrender of that kiss. Her hands curve to cradle my face, pulling me deeper, and in that moment, everything breaks — all the pain, the fear, the doubt — leaving just the raw, aching truth: we are still here, still trying.
My hands don’t just cup her face — they anchor her, holding her steady when the world feels like it’s crumbling. My eyes search hers, fierce and desperate, needing her to see what’s in my soul.
Without hesitation, I crush my lips to hers — no asking this time — a kiss that’s fire and storm, fierce enough to burn away every shadow of doubt she’s been clutching.
Her breath hitches as I pull her closer, my hands sliding down her back, gripping like I’m afraid to lose her again. The kiss isn’t gentle anymore — it’s urgent, demanding, like I’m trying to erase the pain etched between them with every flicker of my tongue, every press of my mouth.
She melts beneath me, trembling as my lips trace fiery trails down her jaw, neck, stealing any breath she thinks is hers to hold.
My whispered mantra breaks through the storm, low and fierce against her lips,
“I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Each repetition is a promise, a shield, a vow. I am kissing her fears away, chasing the ghosts that haunt her heart, and with every touch, she feels herself falling—no longer resisting but surrendering, lost in the raw intensity of my love.
And in that moment, she believes it — feels it ripple through her veins — and lets herself fall into the fire of my love.
Her hands clutch my shirt, nails digging into my skin as if to ground herself — or maybe to never let go. The world narrows down to my touch, my mouth, the way my body presses so close, so real.
I kiss her puffy eyes.
When I pull back, my forehead rests against hers, breaths mingling, hearts racing in a fierce, fragile harmony.
I pull back just enough to look into her eyes, still blazing with that desperate need. My fingers trace trembling lines along her cheek as I whisper, “Since you’ve already packed...” — my voice softens, a teasing, hopeful edge creeping in — “let’s leave. Just you and me. For a few days.”
A slow smile, fragile but real, tugs at the corner of her lips. The weight between them shifts, the heaviness lightening just enough to breathe.
“No distractions. No papers. No past. Just us. Somewhere we can give us meaning again.”
My hands slide around her waist, pulling her impossibly close, as if to shield her from the world.
Her heart flutters — hesitant, but a flicker of longing shines through the pain.
“Just you and me,” I repeat, my breath warm against her skin. “—before you change your mind and ditch me for good.”
She snorts, a smile tugging at her lips. And in that moment, she dares to hope.
My eyes soften, voice dropping low.
“But honestly? I’d follow you anywhere, even if you only took me to the couch.”
She arches an eyebrow, the corners of her lips twitching into a mischievous smile, a playful glint dancing in her eyes.
“You’d like that, huh… me, right there on the couch?”
He chuckles, the sound deep and warm, a slow smile spreading across his face as his fingers lightly traced the curve of her jaw.
“More than you can imagine.”
Her laughter bubbles up, soft and genuine, and she shakes her head with a mix of amusement and affection.
“Careful what you wish for. I just might make that happen.”
My gaze softens, filled with tenderness as I lean closer, the warmth of my breath brushing against her skin.
“Then I’m ready. Wherever you lead, that’s exactly where I want to be.”
The tension between us melts, leaving only quiet promises and the gentle thrum of hope.
We sink into the worn leather couch, her back settling against the warmth of my chest. The steady beat of my heart thrums beneath her, a quiet rhythm that steadies the storm inside her.
My fingers begin their gentle journey—tracing slow, deliberate paths along her collarbone, the soft curve where skin meets the delicate edge of fabric. Each touch is a whisper, an unspoken promise lingering in the air between us.
The pads of my fingers brush higher, lightly skimming the swell of her breasts, careful and reverent, as if discovering something sacred. She breathes in shallow, the scent of me wrapping around her like a comforting shroud—earthy, clean, and utterly mine.
“I don’t want to rush us,” my voice is low, almost a murmur against the shell of her ear. “Just this... just you and me, like this.”
She tilts her head back to rest against me, eyes fluttering closed, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. “Together,” she whispers, her voice fragile but certain.
I kiss the crown of her head, fingers never ceasing their gentle tracing. “Piece by piece, no pretenses. Just honest, raw us.”
Her heart loosens, a fragile hope stirring as tears pools but did not fall. “Even if it takes forever,” she says softly.
I tighten my arms, a vow made without words. “Forever sounds perfect.”
And there, in the muted glow of the room, wrapped in the warmth of my touch, we find a stillness that promises beginnings — quiet, unbreakable, and wholly ours.
Lying there, my fingers trace soft paths along her collarbone, the faint rise and fall of her breath grounding me in the fragile present.
The warmth of her skin against mine was a quiet promise — a whisper that even broken things could be made whole again.
In that stillness, I feel it — the slow gathering of scattered pieces, the remnants of what we once were and what we could still become.
Collecting the pieces of us, I thought, every fragment delicate but real, every scar a story waiting to be rewritten.
And with her close, back pressed against my chest, I dare to believe that this fragile mosaic might one day shine brighter than before.
And so, with the dust of old papers settling, even the lawyer was gently ushered into the past — a quiet reminder that every new beginning demands its own kind of letting go.
A/N: OMGGGGGGG! IT’S A WRAP 😭 Thank you everyone for reading and commenting and showing love it meant the world for me to work with Jana and make this brilliant idea of hers a story for you to read!
