“Then what is it?” I ask softly.
He opens his mouth. Closes it again.
That hesitation is everything.
“I care about you,” he says finally. “About Scottie. About this place.”
“But you’re not choosing it,” I say.
“It’s my job,” he says, frustration creeping into his voice. “That doesn’t mean I’m choosing it over you. I never said I was choosing it over you.”
“You didn’t have to,” I reply. “I know how this goes.”
He steps closer. “You’re deciding this without me.”
“I’m deciding itforus,” I say. “Before it gets harder.”
“Harder than what?” he asks. “Than walking away now?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
Silence settles between us, heavy and unresolved.
“I thought what we had mattered,” he says.
“It does,” I say immediately. “That’s the problem.”
His hurt is quiet, controlled. That almost breaks me more than anger would.
“I don’t want to be another chapter in your story,” I say. “I want to be the whole book. And if you can’t promise that—even eventually—I need to protect myself.”
He studies me for a long moment.
“I didn’t realize you thought so little of me,” he says quietly.
The words hit like a slap.
“That’s not fair,” I say, my voice cracking for the first time. “This isn’t about trust. It’s about reality.”
“Reality can change,” he says.
“That’s not a risk I can take with a child.”
That stops him.
“I won’t ask you to choose,” I say, wiping at my eyes before he can see tears fall. “But I won’t put my heart—or Scottie’s—ina position where we’re waiting on a man whose future isn’t here. We’ve survived that once before. I won’t put us through that again.”
I step back before he can reach for me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I really am.”
He nods once, jaw tight. “So am I.”
We stand there for another beat, the summer air buzzing around us, life continuing like nothing has just fractured.
When I finally turn away, my chest feels hollow.
I know I’ve done the right thing.
