You Couldn't Live With Your Own Failure の小説・ストーリー

It’s now a solid fear and I don’t know how to convince myself that I will actually survive on my own out there. Clearly, no one thinks I can handle myself, not that they are wrong. They are right, fucking shit, they are right and I hate that I have failed myself. I am used to failing everyone else. That shit is second nature to me. But for me to not be able to rely on myself? That’s painfully scary.

“Hey, just saying. The guy has a talent for making failure sound like a one-way ticket to doom. Good luck living up to that.” Her words hit harder than I wanted to admit. Not because she was wrong, but because she was right. There was no room for error, no space for second chances. The plan. It had to work. Failure wasn’t just a risk—it was the end.

Thor’s stare hardened again, though not with the same violent fury as before. “If you truly made mistakes,” I continued, “then own up to them. Stand up. Fix what you can. Then move forward.” I gestured lightly toward the door. “Cowering in this room won’t change the past. It just proves that whatever broke you won.” My gaze locked with his. “And I believe you know this already. If you don't master the art of accepting failure, you'll be trapped in the same circle and not succeed.”

“Not just physically. I’m tired of having to be the sharpest person in the room all the time. Of proving — over and over — that I deserve to be there.” The road curved gently. He adjusted the wheel, still silent. “I keep thinking,” she went on, voice quieter now, “what if this is the time I miscalculate? What if I push too hard, trust the wrong thing, and it all collapses again?” Again. She swallowed. “I don’t think people understand how loud failure gets when you’ve already survived it once.” Still, he didn’t interrupt. No reassuring statistics. No you won’t fail. No we’ll handle it.

No eyes on me. Just me—and the man I neede d to keep believing in me. Don’t fail, I told myself. Failure wasn’t an option. Failure meant death. And I couldn’t afford that.

I knew exactly what she was thinking. She had always said raising children was an investment. Defective stock didn't deserve love. She hadn't cared about the truth. All she wanted was to kick me, the so-called failure, out of the picture. Under her crushing pressure, the once-brilliant Cora had become average. Meanwhile, in the countryside, surrounded by my grandmother's gentle care and teachers who understood my condition, I had finally found my strengths. For Renee, it was devastating to learn that her educational philosophy was flawed.

No undoing what I’d done. I’d failed her. I’d failed us both. And now I had to live with it.

I sucked in a breath as I sank my bottom into the couch. Why did it seem like I was failing in everything? Why did it seem like I just couldn’t do anything right? I failed as a mate a few years back, and given the chance, I would have done things differently. Now, not only was a failing my pack and watching everything I had built over the years start to crumble, I was equally failing at fatherhood. The lump in my throat felt heavy, it was hard and difficult to swallow that I even felt physical pain when I pushed it down.

"Divorce papers on our anniversary. Discovering my husband's feelings belonged to someone else entirely. By every measure I had used to define myself throughout those three years, I had failed completely." The auditorium remained silent, hundreds of attentive faces waiting for whatever came next. "But failure," I said, "isn't actually the opposite of success. I've learned that failure is simply the raw material success is eventually built from, provided you're willing to examine it honestly rather than letting it define you permanently."