But when her broken eyes meet mine, I get the feeling she didn’t come to stay.
42
MADISON
Every step I took away from that stark, fluorescent-lit hospital felt like a slow unraveling, like I was walking in the wrong direction and knew it but kept moving anyway.
Regret coiled tightly in my chest, thick and suffocating, but I forced my feet forward, my pulse a hollow thud in my ears. It was better this way. I reminded myself of that with each step. Jaxon would be fine. I needed to let him go. I always ruined the things I loved, and I refused to do that to him.
The cool night air hit me as I stepped through the sliding glass doors, my own conflicted reflection ghosting over the glass before disappearing entirely. I could have turned around. I could have gone back in.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I walked out, leaving behind the only person I ever truly wanted to stay for.
By the time I got home, the world outside had settled, the campus draped in a blanket of quiet. But inside me, everything was storming. The regret. The doubt. The aching pull of Jaxon’s name in my throat.
And Lyla—she was waiting.
She sat curled on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, her eyes sharp and knowing the moment I stepped inside. She didn’t have to ask. She could see it written all over me.
Still, she exhaled a slow, resigned sigh, crossing her arms. “You didn’t go in.”
Not a question, just a fact.
One I hated.
I let my bag fall beside the door, inhaling deeply. “No.”
Lyla hummed, watching me like she was trying to decide whether to shake me or hug me. “He asked for you, you know.”
My stomach clenched. Of course he did.
Jaxon always asked, always showed up, always tried. He was a constant, a steady heartbeat in my chaotic world, the only thing I’d ever had that felt truly safe.
And what did I do with that safety?
I ran, just like I always did.
I swallowed past the lump forming in my throat, my voice raw when I whispered, “Lyla?—”
She held up a hand, stopping me. “I’m not gonna yell at you.” Her voice softened, the weight of it sinking deep into my ribs. “I just don’t get it, Madison. I don’t understand why you won’t just let yourself have this.”
I clenched my fingers into my sleeves, grounding myself against the pain of my own thoughts. “Because I always hurt people, or they leave. There is no in between. I don’t—I can’t bear the thought of ruining him, his future.”
Lyla studied me, stepping closer, her presence warm and unwavering. “I think you’ve got it backwards.”
I swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”
She tilted her head, letting silence stretch between us, waiting—urging—me to see what she already did.
“You’re not ruining his future, Maddy. He chooses you. He chose you. He wants you to be part of his future. He doesn't want to leave you behind.” She says, her voice gentle, but also firm.
The words hit me like a slow, aching realization.
What if she’s right?
What if the only person I was truly hurting was myself?
