Ava’s eyebrows lift—barely—but the blow lands.
“We crossed a line,” I continue, the words scraping my tongue raw. “I crossed a line I never should have. Not with you. Not with Violet here. I’m not… safe, Ava. I don’t get happy endings. I destroy them.”
Her jaw tightens. “You haven’t destroyed anything.”
I laugh once—bitter and humorless. “Not yet.”
She takes a step toward me, and panic claws up my spine because I know if she touches me again, I won’t be able to finish this.
“No,” I say, backing away, palms up in surrender. “Please. Just—let me finish.”
Her shoulders stiffen, but she nods.
“You and Violet can stay one more night,” I force out. “After that, you should go back to your lives. To something normal. Something that isn’t… me.”
“No,” she finally says softly.
“No?” I echo, breath going sharp.
“No,” she repeats. “Violet needs stability. A roof that doesn’t leak. Someone who knows what to do when her blood sugarcrashes at 5 a.m. If you think forcing us into a worse situation keeps us safer—news flash: it doesn’t.”
I shake my head, pacing again because standing still feels like drowning. “I can’t—Ava, I can’t be what you need.”
“We’re not asking you to be anything.” Her voice rises, heat pouring into every word. “We’re asking you not to run.”
“I’m not running.” It comes out too fast.
She arches a brow. “Then what do you call this?”
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.
She steps closer, close enough that I can smell the faint citrus of her shampoo.
“You pulled us into your arms during the windstorm,” she says. “You’ve saved Violet without thinking. You kissed me like you wanted to breathe again.”
Her voice softens, but her fire does not.
“Stop acting like you don’t care.”
My ribs squeeze tight. “Caring is what destroys everything. You don’t know what happens when I—”
“I do know,” she cuts in, fiercer now. “BecauseI care. It’s terrifying. But I do it anyway. Every day. I get up and face a world that could take my child from me in a second. I don’t get to choose not to care.”
Her eyes go bright, not with tears—but with fury born of love.
“Don’t tell me I don’t understand fear.”
Silence drops heavy. Thick.
She takes one more step, standing toe-to-toe now, breath mixing with mine.
“I’m not letting you push us away because you’re scared,” she whispers. “Not when we’re safer here than anywhere else right now.”
I look at her. Really look.
A woman who has fought every battle alone. Who keeps standing up even when the world keeps swinging.
And I realize she is right: I’m not trying to protect them. I’m trying to protect myself—from needing them.
