I turned at last and forced myself to meet Dean’s eyes.
“In one version, we stop now. Quietly.” The sentence almost failed halfway through.
I forced it out anyway.
I swallowed hard. “No scenes. No drama. I go home. You go home. Milan becomes…” My throat tightened. “Something intense that happened under pressure.”
The words tasted like acid. Even saying it felt obscene, as though I were trying to reduce an entire world to a footnote.
Dean’s jaw shifted, the only outward sign that the sentence had landed exactly where I feared it would, but he didn’t interrupt.
I had to go on. “In that version, the headlines fade. The federation stops paying attention. My father stops calling in that tone.”
Dean’s gaze sharpened at that. “And you?” he asked, his voice soft.
I expelled a slow, painful breath.
“I skate. I train. I keep winning.” They sounded like a mission statement I had memorized years ago. An empty one. “I let them imply whatever they want about Mila. I do not correct it.” I dragged air into my lungs. “I pretend this was… a phase.”
That last word almost wouldn’t leave my mouth, not because I was afraid Dean would challenge it, but because I already knew he wouldn’t have to.
Dean’s voice remained steady. “Would you believe that?”
“No.” My answer came instantly, because that was the horrifying truth underneath all of this.
I already knew there was no going back to the person I had been before Milan.
Even if I could, I wouldn’t choose it.
Silence stretched, and still Dean did not push.
“So what’s the other version?” he asked eventually.
My chest heaved.
“In the other version…” I croaked, then fought for control of my voice again. “I do not pretend.” Another sharp intake of breath. “I do not deny you. I do not step away because it becomes inconvenient for them.” My eyes locked onto his. “I stop letting other people decide the shape of my life.”
The words landed somewhere deep inside me.
I had spent years wanting that without ever allowing myself to name it.
Dean froze, his breathing harsh in the quietness. Seeing the effect on him almost broke my resolve.
I made an effort to breathe normally. “In that version, the federation reacts.” I had already told him a little about that. “They do not need to expel me. They only need to make things difficult.” I swallowed. “Fewer international assignments. Less funding. Technical reviews. Partner changes.”
Subtle punishment, the kind no one outside the system could ever prove.
“My father would call again,” I continued. “But it would not sound like this conversation.” The pressure in my chest was almost unbearable. “I might not be welcomed home the same way.”
The understatement felt absurd.
We both knew I wasn’t talking about awkward family dinners.
Dean stayed very still, not interrupting or rushing to reassure me. He simply listened. There were no arguments, no promises, no attempts to rescue me from my own words.
Somehow that hurt more.
Because now that I’d started speaking, I was saying things I had never admitted to myself.
