"That's exactly what it is." Her voice softened slightly, but lost none of its edge. "You're so afraid of the pain of maybe losing them someday that you're choosing the pain of definitely losing them today. How is that better?"
"Because I control it," I whispered. "Because I choose when it happens."
"And that makes it hurt less?"
I couldn't answer. We both knew the truth.
"Emma, listen to me." Maggie's voice was fierce with conviction. "You don't get to decide who's allowed to love you. You don't get to push people away because you've calculated the odds of loss and found them unacceptable. Life doesn't work that way."
"It worked that way with Lily."
"Lily's death wasn't your fault. And Cole and Sarah are not Lily. They're not your mother. They're not some cosmic debt the universe is collecting."
"You can't know that."
"No, I can't. Nobody can. That's the whole terrifying point of being alive." She paused. "But I can tell you this: if you keep building walls around yourself, if you keep pushing away everyone who tries to love you, you're going to end up alone. Really, truly alone. And someday, when you're old, and the fear has won and there's nobody left, you're going to look back at this moment and wish you'd been brave enough to let them in."
Her words were like physical blows, and part of me knew she spoke the truth.
"I'm trying to protect myself," I said weakly.
"No, honey. You're trying to protect yourself from living. And that's not protection. That's just a slower kind of dying."
I didn't have a response. The silence stretched between us.
"I have to go," I finally managed.
"Call him. Go after them. Fix this before it's too late."
"I can't."
"You can. You're just choosing not to." Her voice softened. "I love you, Emma. But I can't watch you destroy the best thing that's happened to you. Call me when you're ready to stop being afraid."
The line went dead.
I sat on my floor, phone clutched in my hand, Maggie's words echoing in the empty cabin.
You're not protecting yourself from living. You're just dying slower.
My phone buzzed. A text notification.
Dad
Hey, sweetheart. Haven't heard from you in a while. Starting to worry. Call me when you can? Miss you.
I stared at the words. Simple. Loving. A hand extended across the distance I'd so carefully maintained.
My thumb hovered over the call button.
I could hear his voice in my memory, the same warm voice that had read me bedtime stories and talked me through my first heartbreak and held me together at Mom's funeral and then again at Lily's. The last piece of my original family.
I pressed call before I could stop myself.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
His voicemail clicked on. "You've reached Tom Reed. Leave a message, and I'll call you back."
"Dad, I—" My voice broke. "I'm sorry I haven't called. I'm sorry I've been distant. I just... I miss you. And I'm scared. And I think I'm messing everything up."
