“I don’t need you to solve this.”
I stopped moving. “Then what do you need? Tell me and I’ll—”
“I need you to just be here!” Tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t need a game plan or talking points or… or fucking temperature checks. I need you to sit with me and feel this instead of trying to fix it.”
I stared at her, the plate still in my hands. Sit with it. Feel it. The exact opposite of everything I knew how to do.
“I don’t know how to do that.” The admission came out rougher than I meant it to.
“Then learn.” Her voice cracked. “Because this—” She gestured at the dishes, the phone, at me. “This is exhausting.”
I set the plate down carefully. “I’m trying to help.”
“By micromanaging me?”
“By making sure you’re okay!” My voice rose. “That’s what I do—I take care of things. I fix problems before they get worse.”
“I’m not a problem, Connor.”
“That’s not—” I ran both hands through my hair. “You’re hurting. I can see you hurting. And I can’t just stand here watching it happen.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what I do!” The words burst out. “I take care of people. I manage crises. I make sure everything runs smoothly so nothing falls apart.” My voice dropped. “That’s all I know how to do.”
Hannah stared at me, and some of the anger melted from her expression, replaced by something that looked like understanding. Something that felt worse than her anger had.
“Is that what you think love is?” she asked quietly. “Taking care of everything so nothing goes wrong?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
With Mom, love had meant coordinating care, managing symptoms, making sure she had everything she needed. Making lists. Following protocols. Staying three steps ahead.
And with Hannah—I’d been doing the same thing. Making lists, planning contingencies, trying to anticipate her needs before she even knew what they were.
“I don’t know how to love someone without trying to fix them,” I said slowly.
The silence stretched between us.
“We had an exit clause, right?” She wiped at her eyes. “A clean break after the wedding, no hard feelings.” Her voice shook. “Maybe we should have stuck to that.”
“You don’t mean that.” But even as I said it, I could see she did. Could see her already pulling away.
“Don’t I?” Her voice got louder. “You see me as a project, Connor. A problem to solve. And I can’t—I can’t be with someone who’s constantly trying to improve me.”
“That’s not what I’m doing—”
“It’s exactly what you’re doing!” She was moving toward the door now. “You recommended me for a job I didn’t apply for. You’re planning my interview strategy without being asked. You just defended me to my parents like I couldn’t defend myself.”
She shoved her feet into her boots. She was leaving. She was actually leaving.
“You’re doing the same thing Sebastian did,” she said, and the name landed like a punch. “Managing me, controlling me, deciding what’s best for me without actually asking what I want.”
I flinched. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” She grabbed the doorknob. “Sebastian managed my career. You’re managing my whole life. You put me on your fucking checklist like I’m just another task to complete.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. She was right. Of course she was right.
