He smiles reassuringly. “She’ll be fine. Nero. But I appreciate the precautions you’re taking.”
“Thanks.” My voice barely works as I force the word out.
He pats me on the back and leaves.
Blake’s zipping up her suitcase when I walk into her bedroom. She doesn’t look my way.
My gaze lingers on her golden hair. “I’ll call the car. They should be here in fifteen.”
She nods, keeping her back to me. “Thanks.”
There’s a hurricane inside my chest, and any second now, it’ll swallow me whole.
“You sure you don’t want me to come with you to the airport?”
Her movements still, and she takes a shuddering breath. “I’m sure.”
I leave her room. Minutes crawl by. I’m barely holding it together on the living room sofa, waiting for her to come outwith her stuff. I can’t do anything but sit here and attempt to breathe. Even glancing at my phone feels like too much.
And then she’s here, dressed in a pair of jeans and a zip-up sweater. “Could you grab my bag? The doctor told me not to lift anything heavy for a while.”
“Of course,” I manage to choke out.
I bring the suitcase to the foyer, and we stand by the front door and stare at each other for a few long, painful moments.
I keep hoping she won’t do it. That at the last second, she’ll change her mind and stay.
Don’t go. Please don’t go. Choose me. I know I’m not perfect, but I will spend the rest of my days loving you better than anyone else ever can. I’ll make all of the darkness that comes with me worth it. I promise.
Her lips part and tremble. Can she hear my thoughts? Can she see them written all over my face?
I don’t get to keep her against her will, but if shechoosesto stay, if shechoosesto be with—
Her gaze drops to the floor. Without another word, she opens the front door, wheels her suitcase out, and slips away.
My lungs seize as I take in a painful breath.
She’s gone.
I stand there staring at the door for what feels like an eternity, knowing this moment will forever be imprinted in my memory.
The moment I lost everything.
Eventually, my feet carry me into her bedroom. Standing here, it’s so easy to imagine she’s coming right back.
The books she read over the last few days are still sitting on the nightstand. Her extra blanket is folded neatly at the foot of the bed. There’s an empty mug from the tea she had this morning on the dresser.
Get out of here.
I can’t.
It’s awful and heart-wrenching, but some part of me craves the torture. It craves the dull ache at the back of my throat, the tightness behind my eyes, and the way I can’t breathe when I remember her being here just moments ago.
I rewind the last few months, looking for all the places I went wrong. It’s not hard to find them. So many mistakes made, so many lies told.
I had thought we could make it despite all of it. That our connection was strong enough to withstand the weight of everything else. Maybe that’s the problem with never having loved anyone before her—I made love into something mythical, something that can conquer all.
But maybe love is simpler than that. Maybe it’s just doing the right thing for the other person, even if it tears you apart.
