"I'm not. I'm a coward hiding behind lesson plans and spelling tests."
"You climbed that trail for Sarah. You faced your worst fear?—"
"And look where it got me." She laughed, a broken sound. "Panic attacks and a sprained ankle and falling in love with someone I'm going to lose."
"Say that again," I said softly.
"What?"
"The last part."
She stared at me, realizing what she'd admitted. Fresh tears spilled over. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters more than anything."
"No, it doesn't. Because love doesn't protect people. Love doesn't stop accidents, illness, or bad luck. Love just means it hurts more when they're gone."
I moved closer, and this time I reached for her. My hands found her arms, felt her trembling beneath my palms.
"You're right," I said. "Love doesn't protect people. But Emma, living without love doesn't protect you either. It just means you're alone when the bad things happen anyway."
"At least alone doesn't hurt as much."
"Doesn't it?" I held her gaze. "Is this not hurting? Standing here, pushing away the people who love you. Is this painless?"
She didn't answer. She didn't have to.
"I lost Rebecca," I continued, my voice rough. "My only family. The person who'd been with me through every foster home, every bad break. When she died, I wanted to die too. I thought about walking into the wilderness and not walking out."
Emma's breath caught. I'd never told anyone that.
"But then they put Sarah in my arms. This tiny, screaming stranger needed me to stay alive. And I realized something." I swallowed hard. "Grief is the price of love. It's brutal and unfair, and it never fully goes away. But the alternative, never loving anyone, never letting anyone in, that's not avoiding grief. That's just grieving in advance. You're mourning people who are still alive."
"I can't—" Her voice broke completely. "I can't lose you. I can't lose Sarah. The thought of it?—"
"Then don't lose us." I cupped her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. "We're right here. We're not gone. The only way you lose us right now is if you push us away."
"You make it sound simple."
"It's not simple. It's terrifying." My thumbs brushed the tears from her cheeks. "You think I'm not scared? I'm standing here with my chest cracked open, begging you not to leave, and you might still say no. That's the risk. That's always the risk."
"Cole—"
"I love you, Emma. I love your kindness and your strength and the way you make Sarah laugh. I love how you sing along to the radio when you think no one's listening. I love that you hid in a supply closet to avoid me and then felt bad about it."
She choked out something that was half laugh, half sob.
"I don't know how to do this without you," I said, abandoning any pretense of composure. "I don't want to learn. I spent fifteen years being fine alone, and then you showed up with your glitter glue and your sad eyes and your ridiculous bravery, and nowalonesounds like a prison sentence."
"That's not fair."
"I know. None of this is fair." I rested my forehead against hers. "But I'm asking anyway. Please don't give up on us becauseyou're scared of what might happen. I'm scared too. We can be scared together."
For a long moment, neither of us moved. I could feel her breath, quick and shallow. Could feel the war happening inside her.
Then she pulled back.
"I can't," she whispered. "Not right now. I can't just... decide. My head is a mess. Every time I think I know what I want, the fear comes back, and I can't breathe."
