What if I’d told him I loved him when I had the chance?
I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head. It’s too late.
Isn’t it?
I sit there for what feels like forever, my body locked, my mind spiraling, before I finally inhale sharply, straighten in my seat, and start the engine.
I don’t know where I’m going at first. I just drive.
The city lights blur past me, a dull smear of neon against the dark, but I barely register them. My hands shake against the wheel, my pulse pounding so hard, I can feel it in my throat.
I try not to think, but it’s impossible, because every mile I put between myself and that bar, every streetlight I pass, the more suffocating the truth becomes.
I want him.
I love him.
I don’t know when it happened, or if it was always there, waiting for me to stop running long enough to see it.
But I do.
And now, I might have lost him.
The wind bites harder out here, sharp against my cheeks. It carries the scent of winter—the kind that settles deep and doesn’t let go.
I used to love this season. Now, it just feels empty.
I pull my coat tighter around me and step onto the gravel path, my boots crunching with each step. I don’t know why I came here. I was halfway to the highway before I even realized where Iwas going. But now that I’m here, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
The headstone hasn’t changed.
Rebecca Blake
Beloved mother. Fierce heart. Endless light.
I stare at the words someone else chose, words that feel too small for her. My knees give out before I even notice, and suddenly, I’m sitting in the brittle grass, fingers digging into the cold earth like I’m trying to anchor myself to something—anything.
“I don’t even know how to talk to you,” I whisper. “Isn’t that sad? I spent my whole life wanting your attention, and now, I don’t even know what to say.”
The silence feels heavy, like she’s holding her breath with me.
“I’m a mess, Mom. I—I miss you so much, it physically hurts sometimes. I hate you for leaving. I know it wasn’t your choice, but I still hate it. I hate that you didn’t get to see me grow up, that you didn’t get to see the man Jaxon grew up to be, either.” My throat catches on his name. “He’s…he’s kind, patient. And God, he looks at me like I’m the whole damn world,hiswhole world, and it terrifies me.”
I swipe at my face with the sleeve of my coat, angry at myself for crying. Again. “I push people away. That’s what I do. I was doing fine—fine enough, anyway—until he showed up. Until he started loving me like I wasn’t broken.”
A sharp sob slips out, catching me off guard. I bury my face in my hands.
“He makes me want things I told myself I couldn’t have. A future. A home. A version of me who doesn’t flinch every time someone gets close. And I’m so scared, Mom. Because every time I get close to someone, they leave.”
I glance up at the sky, gray and endless above the trees.
“You left.” There’s no bitterness in it now—just truth.
I sit there for what feels like forever, letting myself break open but not fall apart. The way I used to. The way I always do.
After a while, I speak again, quieter this time. “I think I want to stop surviving. I think I want to try living. Even if it hurts.”
The wind rustles the bare branches above me like an answer, or maybe that’s just what I want to believe.
