Another pause. His mouth opens. Then closes again.
“Max?”
He stands too quickly. Paces to the window like he needs the skyline to steady him. His back is to me, shoulders tense, breath coming fast.
And something inside me begins to fray.
“I didn’t plan this,” I say quickly, the words rushing out. “I know it’s soon, and crazy, and not ideal—but I’m telling you because you deserve to know. Because this is yours, too.”
He turns then. And what I see in his face stops me cold.
Not joy. Not disbelief. Not even fear.
It’s doubt.
And maybe something worse.
“Nora,” he says—and my name sounds like a warning. “I needyou to go.”
I blink. “What?”
“I want you to leave, Nora,” he repeats, slow and firm, like he’s speaking to a child.
He’s not looking at me anymore. He’s rubbing the back of his neck like it might erase the last five minutes. The silence stretches again, this time sharp, painful, brittle.
“Max…” My voice shakes. “What is this? I thought—after everything—we’re in this together.”
“I need you to go.” He won’t meet my eyes. “You owe me that much.”
The words sting more than I expect.Owehim? Like I did something wrong.
“But I love you,” I say, the words spilling out, raw with desperation.
If only he’d listen. If only I could make him understand what he means to me.
If only I could show him.
“Don’t.”
I freeze.
He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t move. Just that one word, hard and clipped like he’s trying not to choke on it.
“Don’t what?” I ask, because I need him to say more. Need something to hang on to.
Max finally turns toward me.
And I feel it before he speaks—something cold sliding into the space between us, invisible and heavy.
“We need to stop this.”
It doesn’t register. Not fully. I blink at him. “Stop what?”
“This,” he says, and now he’s looking me dead in the eyes. “Us.”
The words hit like a slap. No warning, no logic. Just pain.
My throat closes. “Max…”
