The missing key

The Jungle.

He took my hand by the bed side. I couldn’t walk any further. Not only because he was holding my hand but because my whole life was held in his: a glimpse of his face, of his masculine hands, of his long back was enough for me to leave everything behind and just be with him. I had the feeling that my existence was determined by his. All the efforts and battles I once fought to become a grown up and educated woman seemed then so meaningless. I had the only mission of making his life my own.
But that day when he looked at me with crystal eyes and said “forgive me, please” I knew it. 
I knew that the words “fool” “stupid” “idiot” were way too soft and nice for what I had been.  I knew in that moment that no matter how much I wished I could forgive him and go on fulfilling my life with his bullshit, I couldn’t. I was done. 
So I reached his hand which was still holding mine and spoke fast before the braveness was gone “No, I am Sorry. I really am. You know my family, they all are the scientist kind of people but I’ve always been more of a literary person. I don’t know how I got this wrong for so long to be honest, but I’ve spent my last four years working as a scientist. I’ve been one of those lab freaks treating wild animals, pushing them into small boxes. I am really sorry, Michael. I’ll let you live in your jungle so you can go back to your savage shit nature”