The days after the garden night were quiet, but in a good way.
We were still living separately — me in my parents' old house next door, Elena in hers — but the wall between us was slowly coming down. We didn't rush back into everything. Instead, we gave each other space while staying close. Small texts during the day. Shared coffee in the morning across the fence. Gentle smiles when our eyes met. It wasn't perfect, but it felt like healing.
I threw myself into solo missions to keep my mind busy. Nothing major — just the everyday chaos the world still had. One afternoon I stopped a carjacking in the downtown district. Two armed men had forced a woman out of her SUV and were speeding away. I landed in front of them, violet energy flaring as I ripped the driver's door off and yanked him out. The passenger tried to shoot — I disarmed him with a pulse before he could pull the trigger.
The woman was shaken but safe. She hugged me tightly. "Thank you, Loverman. You're still our hero."
I smiled, but it didn't reach my eyes. "Just doing my part."
As I was about to fly off, Elena arrived.
She landed a few feet away, purple aura fading. She had clearly been on her own patrol nearby. Our eyes met. For a moment, something warm passed between us — then it cooled into that careful distance we'd both been carrying.
"You got this one?" she asked, voice polite but distant.
"Yeah. All handled."
She nodded once. "Good work."
She flew off without another word. I watched her go, chest tight. We were trying, but the pain was still there.
That night, I couldn't take the silence anymore.
I texted her: Can we talk? My garden in 10?
She replied almost immediately: Okay.
I waited on the old wooden bench in my backyard. The same garden where everything had started — where I first saw her touching herself under the moonlight. Elena appeared a few minutes later, wearing a simple hoodie and leggings. She sat beside me, leaving a small but noticeable gap.
I spoke first, voice low.
"I'm sorry, Elena. For everything. For being weak when Riftmaster had me. For letting those models… for sleeping with them. I hate myself for it. He was controlling me — the suppression fields, the rifts messing with my head — but I still let it happen. I failed you. I failed us."
Elena listened quietly, staring at the grass. When I finished, she looked at me.
"I know he manipulated you. I saw the cuffs, the way he set it up. But it still hurt, Alex. Walking in and seeing you with them… it broke something in me."
I swallowed hard. "I know. And I heard you and Cassanova that night. The sounds… I thought you were—"
Elena cut me off gently. "We didn't. We never slept together. Cassanova and I… we banged things around the room, slammed the headboard, knocked stuff over. I wanted you to hear it. I wanted you to feel the same pain I felt when I saw you with those models. It was cruel. I know that. But I was so angry."
I stared at her, relief and hurt mixing in my chest. "So… nothing happened?"
"Nothing physical," she said. "He's been a good partner on missions. Helpful. Charming. But I could never sleep with another man, Alex. Not while I still love you. I just… needed you to understand how much it hurt."
Tears stung my eyes. I moved closer, taking her hand. "I missed you. So much. Every night. Every mission. I hate what this has done to us."
Elena squeezed my hand, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. "I missed you too. More than I can say."
We sat like that for a long time — just holding hands, the silence no longer heavy but fragile. Then I leaned in and kissed her. Soft at first, then deeper. Not hungry, not desperate — just full of everything we had been missing. Love. Regret. Hope.
When we pulled apart, I whispered, "I love you, Elena. My wife."
She smiled — small, but real. "I love you too, husband."
We didn't have sex that night. It still felt too soon. Instead, we went into the garden — the same garden where everything had started. We lay on the grass under the moon, fully clothed, holding hands. Her head rested on my chest. My fingers stroked her hair.
We stayed there for hours, talking quietly about everything and nothing. The missions. The guilt. The future. The stars above us felt closer than they had in weeks.
For the first time since the surrender, the Super Couple didn't feel completely broken.
We were still fractured.
But we were starting to heal.