The hope that had been building crashed hard. But she wasn't saying no. Not completely.
"What do you need?" I asked, even though the words cost me everything.
"Time." She wiped her face with shaking hands. "Space. Real space, not just a day. I need to figure out if I can actually do this or if I'm just going to keep hurting you."
"How much time?"
"I don't know."
"Okay." The word scraped my throat raw.
"Okay?" She looked surprised, like she'd expected me to fight.
"I don't like it. I hate it, actually." I stepped back, giving her the distance she'd asked for. "But I'm not going to force you into something. That's not how this works."
"Cole—"
"Just know this." I held her gaze, putting everything I had into the words. "I'm not giving up. You take your time. You think. You feel whatever you need to feel. But when you're ready, if you are ready, I'll be here. We'll be here. Waiting."
Her face crumpled. "What if I decide I can't?"
The question was a knife. I made myself answer honestly.
"Then I'll respect that. It'll break my heart, and Sarah's, but I'll respect it." I moved toward the door, each step harder thanthe last. "But Emma? I don't think you're going to decide that. I think you're braver than you know. I think you're going to fight for this, for us, because what we have is worth fighting for."
I reached the door, hand on the knob. Every instinct screamed at me to turn around, to hold her, to refuse to leave until she promised to choose us.
I made myself keep walking.
"Cole." Her voice stopped me on the porch.
I turned. She stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself, tears still wet on her cheeks.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For not giving up."
"I couldn't if I tried."
I walked to my truck. Got in. Started the engine.
I didn't look back. If I saw her standing there, alone in the doorway, I'd break. I'd run back and make promises I couldn't keep, and that would destroy whatever fragile chance we still had.
The drive to Maggie's was a blur. I parked in her driveway and sat there for a minute, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles went white, willing myself to hold it together.
Sarah came running out before I could compose myself.
"Uncle C!" She crashed into my legs the moment I stepped out. "Did you fix it? Is Emma coming over?"
The hope in her voice hurt to hear.
I knelt to her level. "We talked, sweetheart. But Emma needs some time to think."
"Think about what?"
How do you explain adult fear to a six-year-old? How do you tell her that the woman she loves is terrified of loving her back?
"Grown-up stuff," I said, the most inadequate answer in history. "It's complicated."
"But she still loves us, right?"
