But Eden wasn’t a letdown. He never was. He was real, and good, and messy in the kind of way that made me feel safe. Like maybe it was okay to want things. Like maybe love didn’t have to be something that hurt.
And I blew it.
The more I thought about it, the worse it got. I kept replaying that night—his voice shaking, eyes so damn sad, trying to explain something that wasn’t even his fault. And I didn’t listen. I didn’t even give him the chance to.
All because I was fucked up.
I didn’t lose Eden. I threw him away.
I stood up suddenly, heart pounding. The baby shower was tomorrow. He was probably baking today, doing all those little desserts we used to make together. Mille-feuille, fruit tarts, cupcakes—he used to mess them up so bad and still somehow make them taste good. Well, it was my recipe, but that didn’t matter.
And now he was doing it without me.
He should’ve had someone there to help. Not just anyone.Me.
He deserved someone who didn’t flinch at the first sign of love. Someone who stayed.
I opened our old messages. Nothing since that night.
I typed:
“Hey.”
Then deleted it.
He didn’t deserve a text. He deserved more than that.
I pulled on a hoodie, grabbed my keys, and headed out before I could think too hard about it.
If I wanted to fix this—even just apologize, even if he didn’t forgive me—I needed to show up.
For once in my life, I needed to stop running and show up.
56
EDEN
Istared at my phone for the sixth time in ten minutes.
Her name was still at the top of my chats because I couldn’t bring myself to unpin her.
I locked the screen again and tossed the phone face down on my bed. Then immediately regretted it and picked it back up.
This was pathetic.
I wasn’t supposed to still be stuck here, waiting, hoping, checking my phone like some idiot teenager who couldn’t move on. I wasn’t supposed to be this messed up over someone who chose to walk away.
But I was.
Because it wasn’t just anyone. It was Alana.
All I had to do was send her one quick text, and maybe she’d come back. Maybe she was just trying to figure out a way to reach out but simply didn’t know what to say.
I ran my hands through my hair and leaned back against the headboard. My room looked the same as it always did—same wall of trophies from a life I didn’t care about anymore. Same faded posters, same shelves packed with books I never read. Buteverything felt different. Like the silence was louder now. Like the air was missing something important.
I thought about texting her. Just something small. “Hey.” Or maybe “Hope you’re okay.” Even “I miss you,” if I let my guard down enough to admit it.
But every time I started typing something, I deleted it before I could hit send.
