My gaze traces the familiar lines of his face—the strong jaw, the perfect slope of his nose, the stubble that’s grown a shade darker overnight. His lips are gently parted as he breathesthrough his nose, full and plush and slightly pouty. My fingers ache with the instinct to trace them.
A happiness I’ve never known blooms warm and fierce in my chest—so bright it almost hurts.
Hope, too. The dangerous kind. The kind I never let myself touch.
Maybe my life doesn’t have to look the way I once believed it would.
Maybe I’m allowed this.
Maybe the fairy tale isn’t a myth reserved for other people.
I was always too afraid to imagine anything this good. Too afraid to believe it could exist for someone like me. But now? With him? My heart whispers possibilities I never dared to say out loud.
Last night was a gift of epic proportions, and Miles has no idea. How could he? I’ve kept so much of myself buried, locked behind walls I built out of fear and survival.
He is only the second man I’ve ever been with.
My first love—and the wreckage left in its wake—covered me in a darkness I thought I’d drown in. The fallout scarred me, thickened into a wall of trauma I believed no one could ever scale. I didn’t think anyone would even try.
But Miles didn’t break through those walls in one sweeping blow. He chipped away at them slowly… with tenderness. With patience. With small, steady acts of care. His love was never sharp or demanding. It was soft, coaxing me gently toward the light.
He has no idea how much I needed exactly that.
Unwelcome images of my first relationship—the ache, the fallout, the parts of myself I lost—surge into my mind like a tide I didn’t invite. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing them away. They don’t belong here, not in this soft, sacred little universe Miles and I created last night.
But my past is relentless.
It always has been.
A ghost with claws.
No matter how fiercely I try to outrun it, regret finds me. My traitorous mind drags me backward, replaying moments I never want to see again. My chest tightens, breath quickening as the panic swells—sharp, familiar, unwelcome. My skin goes cold and clammy. Last night cracked open a part of my heart I’ve kept locked for years, and now everything I buried is clawing to the surface.
Miles’s eyes flutter open. He sees me, and a sleepy smile curves across his face—pure, warm, disarming. “Good morning, Sunshine.”
The sweetness of it hits me like a punch.
Bile rushes into my throat.
Before I can stop myself, I fling the blankets back and bolt from the bed. My feet hit the cold floor. My body is a storm of panic and memory. I race to the bathroom, slam the door, and twist the lock with trembling fingers.
I barely make it to the toilet before I collapse to my knees and retch—years of fear, shame, and buried trauma pouring out of me in violent waves. I puke until there’s nothing left in my stomach, until I’m hollow and shaking. Finally, I sag back against the cold tile wall, chest heaving. I reach for a towel hanging nearby and wipe my mouth, then swipe at the tears tracking hot rivers down my chilled cheeks.
A soft knock breaks the quiet.
“Miranda?” His voice is muffled, but threaded with worry. “Are you okay?”
My voice fractures. “I’m fine. I just… need a moment.”
His footsteps retreat, gentle and hesitant, and the silence settles around me again. I drop my head back against the wall, letting out a long, unsteady breath.
Goose bumps rise over my bare skin. Only now do I register how freezing the tile is beneath me, how stark the contrast is from the warm cocoon of blankets and Miles’s body heat. I curl inward, arms wrapped around myself, shivering.
I can’t go back out there. Not yet.
Not like this.
“Get it together, Miranda.” My palms press into my knees, squeezing until my skin burns—grounding myself, punishing myself, maybe both.
