Page 68 of The Clifftop Cottage

It wasn’t just the question. It was everything. The exhaustion, the expectation, the way everyone always painted her as the problem while Steven got to be the easy-going golden boy.

She had torn into the interviewer, her voice sharp, shaking, saying something – she could barely remember what. Something about how of course she worked hard, because success didn’t just land in your lap. About how maybe people should stop romanticising laziness and get out of bed.

Steven had gripped her wrist so tightly it hurt.

They had cut to commercial.

And now, she was here.

Outside the hospital.

Like before.

She shook her head. “Please,” she whispered. “I know I’m not okay, but I don’t need this. Just take me home.”

Steven’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel. His silence was heavy.

Then, finally, he turned to her. His face unreadable.

“Erica,” he said softly. “I can’t do this again.”

She swallowed.

“I love you,” he continued, voice gentle now. “But I can’t keep picking up the pieces every time you fall apart. It’s exhausting.”

She flinched. He sounded so certain. So reasonable. Maybe he was right.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You always think you know better. That you can handle it. But you can’t. And you know what happens if I take you home? You won’t rest. You’ll stay up all night rewriting content plans and researching optimisation strategies because you can’t stop. You’ll spiral. Again. And I will be the one dealing with it.”

Tears burned in her eyes. “Steven.”

“I’m not going to let you ruin everything we built because you refuse to get help.”

The finality in his voice made her stomach drop.

She looked at the hospital entrance. The cold fluorescent lights. The glass doors that would slide open and swallow her whole.

The last time she had been inside, she had sworn she would never go back.

She knew what awaited her in there. The beige walls. The voices. The loss of control.

She gripped the edge of her seat.

She could get out of the car. Walk inside. Let them take her again.

Or … she could nod. Tell Steven he was right, find a way to change his mind.

And keep going, drive away. Go home.

But would he let her?

Steven sighed, like this was all so difficult for him. Like this was her fault. “I don’t want to leave you here.”

She knew what he meant. If she refused to go in, he would leave her.

The silence stretched.

Finally, she exhaled. Slowly. Shakily. “Okay.”