Not since everything that came after.
I swallowed, throat tightening. The one I never talked about. The one people whispered about like it had been worse than it was, and in some ways, it had been.
Because it wasn’t only about the crash.
It was what cameafter.
First, it had defined me and created a future I didn’t want, but when I harnessed it, what came next was worse.
The realization that nothing was guaranteed. That all the planning and climbing and earning didn’t mean anything if you walked away from a twisted guardrail or couldn’t even rememberwhereyou were going in the first place.
Because my father…he did it to himself, and we were just lucky he didn’t take anyone else with him.
But that ruined me as a kid, and it finished off my mom.
My worry was that it wouldn’t be long before it grabbed my brother, too.
And now here she was, Fifi, this person full of sunlight and chaos and homemade granola bars—dragging me back to life without even realizing it.
She made me feel like it was safe to care, and that scared the hell out of me because caring meant consequences.
Caring meant leaving behind the safe, lonely shell I’d built for myself. It meant opening doors I’d long since locked, and maybe finding there was nothing worth saving behind them.
And more than that, it meantdisappointing her.
Because eventually I’d leave.
Ihadto.
That was always the plan.
Two weeks. In. Out. Minimal damage. Back to my job, my life, my perfectly color-coded calendar full of things that made sense.
Except... now I wasn’t sure they did.
I looked toward the window. From here, I could see the edge of the lake trail in the distance. A few people walked by, couples, families, a guy jogging with a golden retriever.
It looked easy.
Normal.
Like a life I’d forgotten how to want.
I leaned back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, the fan spinning in a slow, lazy circle overhead.
Nothing can happen.
That was the mantra. That was the safety net I kept repeating every time her smile made my chest ache.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want her.
Hell, Idid.
More than I’d let myself admit, but wanting her andbeing withher were two different things.
And people like Fifi didn’t get tied to people like me. People whose idea of intimacy was dodging phone calls and leaving thank-you notes instead of conversations.
Besides, what would that even look like?
