“But say yes…” He’s closer now. I can feel it—the heat, the presence, the weight of him in the space. “Say yes, and I show you what you could be. No more fear. No more fighting. No more pretending you’re less.”
Something touches my cheek. Wiping away wetness I didn’t know was there.
I’m crying.
When did I start crying?
“You don’t have to be strong here,” he murmurs, and there’s something almost tender in it. “You don’t have to prove anything.”
My chest aches.
I’m so tired.
Tired of being afraid. Tired of fighting. Tired of wondering if I’m too broken to fix.
“Just let go.” The words are a caress against my ear. “Let me show you what you are.”
My mouth opens.
The word forms, heavy and inevitable.
Yes.
One breath. One syllable.
And it ends.
All of it.
The fear. The exhaustion. The constant weight of trying to hold myself together.
I could just… stop.
“You’ve been so strong for so long.” His voice is everywhere now, wrapping around me, pressing in. “Give it to me. I’ll hold it for you.”
My lips part wider.
Yes—
Something stops me.
Not panic. Not fear.
Something smaller. Quieter.
A voice that sounds like me before everything broke.
If you say it, you can’t take it back.
My breath catches.
The word sticks in my throat—caught between yes and no, between surrender and something else.
I stand there, trembling.
Silence.
Then he laughs.
