Romans & histoires Broken Novel

The mirror invites Perci to see his soul and the condition of his heart, to look past physical features. He sees nothing but a man in his 40's, single and broken. 'I wish I had not met you again.' He broke the mirror; it was the last mirror in his room because the rest is broken. A crack runs across the glass, finding the weaknesses that were once small. From a perfect mirror to something that is unrecognizable. He watches each fragment fly outward until they lie still yet vicious on the Marmol floor. Breaking glass has become his art and comfort. There is nothing more broken than his heart. Those fragments are nothing compared to his heart. He watched them shatter and release just a fragmen

“I had three children looking at me. Waiting for me to be strong.” He set his cup down on the table carefully. “I know I hurt you.” I turned back to face him. “Do you?” I asked. He swallowed. “Yes.” I walked closer again, stopping just a few steps away from him. “My heart was broken,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Not cracked. Not slightly damaged. Broken.” His jaw tightened. “Can you tell me something?” I continued. He nodded slowly. “If a glass breaks… if it shatters into pieces… can you put it back together and make it look the same again?”

A little deeper. And that was it. Roman broke.

Because based on his advices, he seems to be an expert in the problem I am facing. "I don't think you can win her back. Remember this Del Mundo, not everything that breaks is restored. Cianna's fragile, and you know that fragile should be handled with care because once it's broken, it can't be repaired. Glasses, vases and other fragile materials—ike this. . ." "What the h*ll!" I screamed after he dropped the glass he was holding. "Look at that glass, I broke it. Now, let me fix it." He knelt down to pick up the broken pieces of glass one by one.

She didn't even want to imagine. As her eyes drooped in misery, she gave in to the ennui that had been nipping at her heels for longer than she cared to remember. She sniffled and curled into herself in sorrow as she asked herself how long she would feel like this, so alone, so completely broken. But there were no answers, only a deep void of nothing. A black hole that waited to suck her in if she let it.

"But... I'm broken and messed up and have pieces of me all over the place. That's not something anybody should have to deal with, Noah." I shrugged softly, "I don't care, Tiffany. I want you and if that comes with pieces all over the place then I'm okay with it. You don't get it," I chuckled softly, moving the hand that was cupping her face back to her hands to hold them gently in mine. "I can't unlove you. I can't forget the feeling of holding you when you sleep next to me. I can't forget how your eyes would get a bit bigger every time something surprising would happen in Prison Break. I can't forget the dreadful look on your face every time you walk in to math class, wanting it to be over

At one point, I was in awe of my own wolf but the second, I could not imagine the amount of pain he would suffer if anything would go wrong. My hands were now on the mattress, inches away from her sleek fingers. I internally practised being soft because she seemed breakable even if I held her hand with my usual strength, I would still hurt her. "Just, fucking hold it, Adriel. She won't bite!" Zion shouted in my head, enough short on patience.

The stinging pain made Claire open her eyes. When she moved her left hand, she winced as the pain intensified. She looked at the back of her hand to see what had happened, and her eyes widened in shock. Her knuckles were torn, and fresh blood was oozing out. She quickly stood up from the hard wooden floor to grab the first-aid kit. “How did my hand get hurt like this?” she muttered as she cleaned the wound with alcohol. The intense stinging brought tears to her eyes. Unable to bear the sight of the small tear in her skin, she looked away. But what she saw was the mirror hanging next to her wardrobe, shattered into pieces, with shards still embedded in the frame.

In the end, I told myself it was wrong to be petty toward a grieving widow, so I was the one who gave in and apologized. Later, when Ryan wanted to put his ring back on, he couldn't find it anywhere. Luckily, I still had the original design sketches. Since my own ring was getting worn out, I decided to order a brand-new set, identical to the first. But before the rings even arrived, our bond had already shattered. I instinctively rubbed the faint pale mark where my ring used to sit. My old band was still sitting on that table back at the Pack House. "I don't want them. Even if they're brand new and identical, our bond is fractured. There's no going back."

Healing was not linear. But tonight, something fundamental had shifted. Her walls had not shattered. They had opened. And as she turned off the lights and prepared for sleep, a quiet certainty settled inside her: This was not a reckless leap. It was a careful unfolding. And for the first time since everything had broken, she was no longer bracing for impact. She was leaning into possibility.