Ben leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his eyes searching hers. "I want to understand," he said softly. "Help me understand."
The gentleness in his voice threatened to undo her. Amelia swallowed hard, her fingers tracing patterns in the condensation on her drink cup.
"It's like…" she paused, trying to find the right words. "It's like I'm trapped in a body that betrays me every single day. And everyone keeps saying things will get better, or that I should just push through it, or try this new diet, or some new exercise plan. But they don't understand that I can barely get out of bed on some days. How can I train when the simplest of things wear me out?"
The frustration in her voice rose as she spoke, and she had to take a deep breath to steady herself. She hadn't meant to say so much.
"I used to be able to do things most people couldn't even imagine. Now I struggle with what everyone takes for granted. And the worst part is…" She paused, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. "The worst part is that no one seems to see it. Everyone thinks I'm just lazy or not trying hard enough."
Ben reached across the table and covered her hand with his. The warmth of his touch sent a flutter through her stomach.
"I see you," he said. "I see how hard you're fighting every day."
Amelia looked away, afraid the intensity in his eyes would break the fragile control she had over her emotions.
The evening sun cast long shadows across the park, painting everything in a golden hue that made the world seem softer somehow.
In that moment, with the world bathed in golden light and Ben looking at her with such genuine concern, Amelia felt a crack form in the walls she'd so carefully built around herself.
"Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever get better," she admitted. "If I'll ever feel like myself again."
"I think you're still you," Ben said, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand. "Just a different version of you than before. And maybe you won’t skate again, but you still have value. You still have a purpose in this life."
Amelia felt a lump form in her throat. "I don't like this version of myself very much."
"I do," Ben said simply. “There is nothing wrong with this version.”
“But this version isn’tme.”
Ben tilted his head as he regarded her for a long moment. “Is it because you can’t skate?”
She lifted her brows at him. “Of course.”
“But you’re more than an ice skater.”
“Am I?” She didn’t feel like she was. Her whole life, the whole reason she’d been acknowledged, was because she skated at an elite level. Her skating was her whole identity.
She’d skated. She’d designed her skating costumes. She’d choreographed her routines. When she wasn’t on the ice, she was still doing something related to skating.
It had been her whole world, and it was how people knew her. So no, she wasn’t sure she was anything more than an ice skater.
“You’re a daughter. A sister. An aunt.”
“Those are all identities tied to other people. Skating was just for me.”
“Okay.” Ben seemed to get what she was saying, since he nodded. “But I never viewed you as just a skater, and I don’t think the people who knew you well viewed you that way either.”
“But… the problem is thatIhave viewed myself as a skater. Skating was going to be my career. Even after I retired, I planned to stay involved in the skating world. Coaching like Lexi does.”
“And you can’t coach now?”
Amelia felt weight settle on her shoulders as she was once again faced with someone who just didn’t get it. For some reason, it hurt more because she’d thought Ben really understood what she was dealing with.
“No. I can’t.” Bending her head, she picked up the chicken wrap she’d ordered that day.
“I’m sorry, Lia. I just… I just hate seeing you act like you no longer have any value in life now that you can’t skate,” Ben said, his voice gentle. “Because that’s not true at all.”
And yet, that was how she felt. Amelia wanted to say more, to explain how she felt as if a vital piece of her had been ripped away, but the words caught in her throat. She took a bite of her wrap instead, chewing slowly to buy herself time.
