I lie in my bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the house breathe around me like it’s judging my life choices.
Every sound registers. The creak of the stairs when Drew goes downstairs. The hum of the refrigerator. The soft, maddening absence of Ivy in this bed where she should be—where shewas—before I decided I knew better than she did.
The guest room door remained closed all night.
And it fucking hurts.
I’ve negotiated mergers with less tension than what’s sitting in my chest right now.
Sometime after midnight, I give up pretending rest is possible and sit up. My feet hit the floor quietly. I grab my sweatpants and a tee and put them on. I don’t turn on the lights. There’s no need to.
I pace down the hallway and stairs, stopping outside the guest room door.
As much as I want to knock, I don’t. Knocking wouldstill be about control—about forcing a response, about demanding resolution onmytimeline. And I’ve done enough of that.
I sit down on the floor instead. My back against the wall. Knees bent. My hands rest loosely on my thighs.
I stare at the wood grain of the door and let the truth land without armor, without justification, without strategy.
I didn’t protect her. I replaced her choices with mine.
I didn’t step in because she was unsafe. I stepped in becauseI was uncomfortable.
And then I told myself that was love.
The realization sits heavy, ugly, and undeniable.
My head hits the back of the wall.
I’m in love with the woman I once reduced to a joke.
No—that’s not it.
Ivy isn’t untouched by the world. She’s survived it. She knows how easily love turns into loss, how quickly light gets swallowed. And still, she chose openness while I chose armor.
That’s a strength I admire. Traits I wish I possessed.
As I sit there outside the door, I vow to do things differently. To show that I trust her. To allow her to make decisions and trust that if she needs me, she’ll ask for my help.
To ask her about her past to truly learn who she is.
And in return, it’s time for me to open up and reveal the secrets I’ve kept buried for too long.
I just hope I’m not too late.
I’m notsure when I fell asleep, but when the door opens, it startles me. My head jerks up, and I wipe the drool from the side of my mouth, blinking rapidly.
“Ivy,” I say quietly. “Good morning.”
She stares down at me, her expression blank. “What are you doing?”
I shift my weight slightly. “I... couldn’t sleep without you.”
Silence.
I deserve that, too.
“I didn’t knock,” I continue. “I didn’t ask you to open the door.”
