The question echoed in my head. His voice, raw and desperate, asking me the thing I’d been avoiding for five years.
What was I so afraid of?
Choosing wrong, yes. Getting hurt, obviously. But underneath that—what was the real fear? The one I’d never let myself look at directly?
It hit me like a punch to the chest.
I was afraid of being seen.
Todd had made me feel invisible, and it had nearly broken me. I’d spent five years since then making sure no one ever got close enough to really see me—the scared parts, the broken parts, the parts that still wondered if I was too much and not enough all at once.
But Marcus had seen me anyway. And instead of running, he’d stayed. He’d made me tea and cleared me a chair and listened to my chaos and called me out when I was hiding.
He’d seen me. And he’d still wanted to choose me.
Until I’d made it clear I couldn’t choose him back.
I stared at the closed door. At the dark shop. At the place where Marcus was, alone, probably convincing himself I’d never change.
He was wrong.
I was going to prove him wrong.
Not because he’d demanded it. Not because I wanted to win an argument. But because for the first time in five years, I wanted something more than I wanted to be safe.
I wanted him.
And that was terrifying. And wonderful. And absolutely worth fighting for.
I started walking home, phone buzzing in my pocket, tears still wet on my face. But something had shifted. Something had cracked open.
For the first time in my life, I was going to have to fight for something instead of running from it.
I had no idea if I could do it.
But I was going to try.
8
THE GRAND GESTURE
WHERE I FINALLY SAY IT OUT LOUD.
Ididn’t go home.
I walked three blocks, tears streaming down my face, phone buzzing relentlessly in my pocket—and then I stopped. Right there on the sidewalk, in front of a bakery that smelled like cinnamon and poor life choices.
What was I doing?
I’d just told Cassie I was going to fight for this. I’d spent a sleepless night convincing myself I could be brave. I’d texted Marcus four times, baring my soul to a screen, and then walked to his shop to say it all in person.
And at the first sign of resistance—at the first moment it got hard—I was walking away. Again.
This was exactly what he’d accused me of. This was the pattern. Show up, get scared, run. Keep the door cracked open but never walk through it. Let fear make every decision while pretending I was “keeping my options open.”
So you’ll waste the rest of your life on nothing instead?
Marcus’s words echoed in my head. The raw hurt in his voice. The way he’d looked at me like I was proving everything he’d feared.
