Coralyn is quiet for a long moment after I stop talking.
“So let me get this straight,” she says finally. “You found a hot mountain man who builds furniture and worships your body and actually listens when you talk. You fell in love with him in three days. And then he pushed you away because he’s scared?”
“That’s the summary, yes.”
“And you just... left?”
The question hits like a slap. “What was I supposed to do? He made it very clear he didn’t want me to stay.”
“Since when do you let men tell you what to do?”
I blink, caught off guard. “That’s not?—”
“Marcella.” Coralyn’s voice is gentle but firm. “You spent three years letting Stephen convince you that you were too much. You shrunk yourself down until there was barely anything left. And when you finally got out, you swore you’d never do that again.”
“This is different.”
“Is it? Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like Finn is scared, and instead of fighting for what you want, you’re running away.”
“He doesn’t want me to fight for him!”
“So? Since when does what a scared man says he wants have anything to do with what he actually needs?”
The words land somewhere deep in my chest. I stare out the windshield at the darkening sky, trying to process.
“He said terrible things,” I whisper. “About how he’d ruin my life. How I deserve better. How he can’t be what I need.”
“He said scared things. There’s a difference.” Coralyn sighs. “Look, I’m not saying he didn’t hurt you. He clearly did. And if he were just some random asshole, I’d tell you to forget him and move on. But from everything you’ve told me, this guy is drowning in trauma and isolation, and you’re the first person in four years who made him want to come up for air. That’s not nothing, Marce.”
“So what am I supposed to do? Camp outside his cabin until he changes his mind?”
“I don’t know. That’s for you to figure out.” Her voice softens. “But I know you. I’ve known you since freshman year when you cried over a B+ on a paper because you thought it meant you were failing. I’ve watched you build something incredible with your blog, brick by brick, even when Stephen was tearing you down. You’re not someone who gives up.”
I swallow hard. “This is different than a blog post.”
“Yeah, it is. It’s harder. But you didn’t walk away from your marriage because you were weak, Marce. You walkedaway because you were strong enough to choose yourself. The question is—can you be strong enough to choose him too? Even if he’s too scared to choose himself?”
I don’t have an answer for that.
The hotel roomis generic in that comforting way all hotel rooms are—neutral colors, standard furniture, a bed that’s neither too soft nor too firm. I drop my bag on the floor and sink onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling.
Coralyn’s words echo in my head.Are you going to let fear win, or are you going to fight for what you want?
The anger is fading now, leaving behind something rawer. Something that aches in a way I didn’t know I could still ache after Stephen had already broken me so thoroughly.
I love him.
The realization isn’t new—I said it to his face, in the heat of our argument—but sitting here alone in this anonymous hotel room, it feels different. More real. More permanent.
I love Finn McGrath. I love his quiet strength and his hidden gentleness and the way his whole face transforms when he almost-smiles. I love that he builds beautiful things with his hands because creating is easier than feeling. I love that he covered me with a blanket when I fell asleep on his couch, that he taught me to carve wood, that he ate my cooking like it was the first real meal he’d had in years.
I love the way he said my name—Marcella—like it was something precious. I love that he told me I wasn’t too much when I’d spent years believing the opposite. I love that he shared his pain with me, his guilt, his fear, even when every instinct told him to stay silent.
I love him, and he loves me too. I saw it in his eyes even as he was pushing me away. I felt it in the way his hands shook when he loaded my bags into the car. I heard it in his voice when he told me to drive safely, like the words were covering up something else entirely.
He’s not incapable of love. He’s just terrified of it.
And I understand that fear. God, do I understand it. After Stephen, I swore I’d never let anyone have that kind of power over me again. I built walls of my own—different from Finn’s, but walls nonetheless. The bright smile that hides the insecurity. The endless chatter that fills silence before it can become uncomfortable. The way I make myself useful, indispensable, so people have a reason to keep me around.
