“I’m not trying to punish you,” he added, gently. “But I need you to know—I’m scared too. I’ve loved you every day for ten years, and I don’t think I can survive losing you again.”
Ali didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Her eyes were wide and shimmering, mouth parted like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the breath. Couldn’t find the strength.
So Dylan just leaned forward again, pressing his forehead gently to hers.
They stayed like that.
No more confessions. No fixing. No unraveling the past.
Just breath.
Just the quiet.
Her fingers slowly unclenched in his shirt. His hand slid up her back, holding her close, not to keep her—but to let her stay.
He felt her heartbeat slow against his chest. His own body ached with exhaustion, but not just from the day. From the years. From everything they were finally letting themselves feel.
No tidy endings. No whispered promises.
Just rest.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered finally, lips barely brushing her temple.
And then he settled them in the bed, pulling the comforter over them both as he laid back with her in his arms.
Still here. Still his. Still hers.
For now, that was enough.
When her breathing evened out, warm and steady against his chest, Dylan knew she was asleep.
She didn’t let go of him.
Not completely.
Her fingers stayed curled in his shirt, like if she loosened her grip, he’d vanish. And maybe… part of her still believed that.
He stayed still for a long while, staring at the ceiling in the dark. His mind wouldn’t shut off. Not after everything she’d said. Not after everything he’d finally said back.
He reached for his phone off the nightstand, careful not to jostle her, and angled the screen away from her face. The light burned at first. Then he opened Safari.
He typed:Borderline Personality Disorder.
Then:Fear of abandonment BPD. How to support someone with BPD. Loving someone with BPD.
He scrolled in the dark, devouring every word in silence. The clinical definitions. The symptoms. The stigma. The pain behind it all. The strength it must’ve taken for her to sit on that bed and say it out loud.
She’d been trying.Every day.
He swallowed hard, his chest tight.
He ordered a book on Amazon about being in a relationship with someone who suffers from BPD that he kept seeing recommended.
He couldn’t fix this for her. He knew that. But he could learn. He could meet her there. Not just in the good moments—but in the panic, the spirals, the dark. Because she deserved someone who wouldn’t flinch when the fear crept in.
And dammit, he was going to be that person.
But, Daddy I Love Him
