The way he sat across from me at lunch and didn’t reach. Didn’t charm. Didn’t try to close the distance Ineeded. The steel blue of his voice with violet threading through it—something vulnerable I’d never heard before.
Yesterday, he was the same man I fell for, rebuilt. Steadier. Quieter. Like someone who’d learned how much space to take and was choosing less.
I didn’t expect that.
I didn’t expect the hope.
That’s the dangerous part. The part I’ve been trying not to look at directly since I stepped out of his car and realized my chest didn’t hurt.
Because I’m still in love with him.
I’ve gotten good at holding that in check—at not letting it dictate my choices, at building a life that doesn’t orbit around his absence. But it’s there. Persistent. Patient. Waiting to see if the hope I felt yesterday was real or just another mistake my heart wants to make.
Romania would answer that.
Three weeks. Close quarters. Real conditions. If he’s actually changed, if the restraint wasn’t performance, if he can sustain it when no one’s watching, if he can show up in my world without trying to rewrite it—then maybe. Maybe there’s something.
If he’s the same guy underneath the quiet, if the control slips, if he starts reaching for more than I offer?—
I’ll be stuck there. Three weeks with no escape route. Mihai depending on both of us. Kids who need stability, not drama.
That’s the risk.
But maybe that’s also the point.
Because if he reverts—if I see the performance crack and the entitlement underneath—at least I’ll know. At least I’ll have tried and failed in a way that’s so definitive I can finallymove on.
I sit with that.
My body doesn’t tighten. My hands aren’t shaking. The thought of him in Romania lands somewhere between terrifying and possible.
Not safe. But not impossible either.
The truth is, I want to try.
Not because it’s smart. Not because the logic is clean.
Because yesterday, for the first time since the quad, I looked at him and felt something other than betrayal. The faint, treacherous possibility that the man who learned to hold himself back might actually be someone I could trust again.
I’m trying to systematize this. Weigh the variables. Calculate the risk. But my gut saidyesthe second Mihai mentioned needing someone. Everything else is just me catching up.
If I’m wrong about him, three weeks in Romania will prove it.
And if I’m right?—
I don’t let myself finish that thought.
He said he’d hike the Appalachian this summer. Weeks in unpredictable terrain. He’s comfortable with long days, with keeping calm under pressure. He knows how to lead. And he speaks English.
He also has nothing else lined up.
And—this is the part that makes my nervous system loosen instead of tighten—he now knows how to take up the right amount of space.
Mihai needs him. And maybe—just maybe—so do I.
I unlock my phone and scroll until I find his name.
My thumb hovers for half a second.
