"Then the first thing you do," Dr. Vance said, "is correct that. Not to win her back—but because it'strue. After that, if you want any hope of starting over, you show her—not with words, not with flowers, but withconsistency. Accountability. Presence."
Soon after I left, I made a list. Be present. Apologize like it's the last thing I'll ever get to say. Show her she was always the only one. Not because I chose wrong. Because I lost myself. And I regret it more than anything I've ever done.
I started with Leo. He opened the studio door and looked like he wanted to throw me through it.
"You think she's waiting for you?" he said coldly. "She couldn't evenbreathe, Aaron. She collapsed," he snapped. "I had to carry her into the ER. Full-blown panic attack. June. The strongest damn person I know—and you broke her."
The words hit like a gut punch. My knees buckled slightly, like the ground itself didn't want to hold me anymore.
December, sweet December, didn't even smile. "She looked so tired," she said softly. "You were her dream. And you turned her into your afterthought."
Then came January. She slammed the door in my face the first time.
"Jan, please I need—"
She opened the door halfway, and the look on her face could've curdled blood. Her voice was all venom and zero patience.
"Oh,nowyouneed something? That's rich. She needed you when her world collapsed—and you vanished like a coward in a blackout."
"Jan—"
"No. Shut your mouth, Shakespeare, no one's here for your tragic soliloquy."
I blinked.
"She gave you so much love and you threw it in the trash for a black-and-white rerun of your high school nostalgia trip."
I swallowed hard.
"You had gold in your hands, Aaron. And you fumbled it like a toddler with a Fabergé egg. For what? A memory? A what-if? You didn't just drop the ball, you deflated it, set it on fire, and danced on the ashes."
"Jan—"
"No. You don't get to speak your pain. Not until you've carried hers. You want to cry? Go to therapy. Go write a sad little journal entry. Hell, go scream into a canyon. But don't youdareshow up on this porch with your 'I'm-a-changed-man' face and expect applause."
She stepped back just enough to slam the door but lingered with one last glare.
"You didn't break her, Aaron. You cracked something ancient in her. And if you think a bouquet and a sob story's gonna fix it, you're more delusional than I thought."
Then the door slammed.
Hard. I stood there in the hallway, silent.
Later that night, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at a text I'd sent weeks ago—a simple "I love you, I miss you" June never responded to. Then it hit me. Her dad. She always said he was her anchor. Her safe place.
The next day, I left work early. Bought her favorite flowers. Drove with shaking hands. I told myself not to expect anything. But what I saw broke me in a way I didn't know I could break.
There she was— bathed in the hush of twilight, standing on the porch like a painting I once had the honor of touching.
She wasn't alone. He held her in that rare, aching way people hold something precious—
like the world might split if they let go, and she smiled. In that moment, with my heart caving in like a house that forgot how to stand— I realized this pain clawing at my insides was still only the ghost of what I had done to her. A shadow of the storm I left her in.
I had broken something beautiful and now I knew what it looked like when she started to heal without me.
Chapter Fifteen: Confrontation(1)
There she was.
