“We got an apartment, just the two of us,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “I thought it’d be amazing. Like we’d build a future together. But he was always caught up in hockey—the pressure, the practices, the games. I tried to be supportive because I knew it mattered to him. It was his dream. And for a while, I was okay with it.”
Her breath hitches.
“But when things didn’t go well—when he got benched or the team lost—he brought that frustration home. Not physically. He never hurt me like that. But emotionally? He’d shut me out. Go cold. Like I wasn’t even there. And if I tried to comfort him, to be there… he’d get angry. Not at hockey. At me. Like I was the problem.”
My jaw tightens, fury simmering just beneath the surface, but I stay quiet. She needs to let this out.
“He’d ignore me for days. Snap over nothing. Call me tooemotional. Say I didn’t understand.” Her eyes glaze over with memory. “I kept trying. I just wanted to help. But it never seemed to be enough. And the worst part? I didn’t know how to fix it. I couldn’t figure out how to make him happy again.”
The weight of her words settles heavily between us. She’s been carrying this pain alone for far too long. And that she ever believed it was her fault? It wrecks me.
“When he came home in a bad mood, he didn’t take it out on the team, or himself—he took it out on me. Every time. It kept getting worse. The silence. The insults. Like I was being punished for his failures.” She swallows hard, her voice cracking. “He’d say things like, ‘What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you happy? Why can’t you be perfect like the puck bunnies at my games?’ And that’s when I started questioning everything. Wondering if I really wasn’t enough.”
The vulnerability in her voice hits me like a punch to the gut. I feel sick knowing that she lived through that, that she thought she wasn’t enough for someone who should’ve treated her like she was the best thing in the world.
Because she is.
I tighten my arms around her, pulling her closer, as if I can shield her from the memories of that time. “You’re enough, Bumper,” I murmur, pressing a kiss into her hair. “You have always been enough. More than enough.”
She sniffs softly, wiping her eyes, but she doesn’t pull away. I’m glad. She needs to hear this. She needs to know.
“Anyway,” she says, her voice quiet now, “that went on for a while. We got into this pattern. He’d get angry, I’d try to fix it, and it would get worse. Until one day, he just…left. No warning. No explanation. He just stopped coming home and stopped answering my calls. And I realized, he wasn’t just done with me—he was done with us. And even though I knew it was over, I couldn’t help but feel like I had failed. Like I didn’t do enough to keep him happy.”
I feel the heat of my anger flare again, but this time, it’s not just for him.
It’s for her.
For making her believe she wasn’t enough, that her love wasn’t worth anything.
“You didn’t fail, Bumper,” I say, my voice firm, desperate to make her understand. “He failed you. He failed to see how incredible you are. But I see you. I see everything you are. And you…” I grip her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me, “-you’re more than enough. You always were.”
She finally meets my gaze, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. And for the first time since we started talking about him, she looks a little lighter. A little less burdened. And for that, I’m willing to do whatever it takes. To show her every single day that she deserves nothing less than the world.
“Did he ever?” I begin my voice thick with rage, clenching my fists until my knuckles turn white.
Millie glances at me with a soft, sad smile, her hand reaching out to squeeze mine. It’s gentle and reassuring, but I can feel the weight of everything she’s been through in that touch.
“He never laid a hand on me. The worst he ever did was throw a glass…at the floor.” Her voice falters slightly as she speaks, as if she’s not entirely sure how much it matters or if it’s worth mentioning at all.
The words hit hard. Like somehow throwing a glass at the wall made it less cruel. As if that kind of rage could be justified—just because it didn’t leave bruises. But it did. Just not on her skin. It left marks buried deep, the kind that warp how you see yourself, that make you question your worth and wonder if you’ll ever be enough
It makes my blood boil all over again.
I take a deep breath, fighting the urge to storm out and find this asshole. The only thing holding me back is the girl sitting next to me—the woman I would do anything for. Her pain, her hurt,it’s mine now, and I won’t let it consume me. Not while she needs me to be steady.
“Bumper,” I say, trying to keep my voice as calm as I can. “It doesn’t fucking matter. He fucked with your brain. That absolutely counts for something.” I lean in closer, wrapping my arms around her, hoping she can feel the sincerity in my words. “That kind of shit? It sticks with you. And youdon’tdeserve any of it.”
I slide my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close so she can feel the heat of me, the promise that she’s not alone anymore. She leans into me, fragile but determined, and I hold her like she’s the only thing keeping me sane.
Her breath hitches. “I’m so glad I met you, Gab,” she whispers into the fabric of my shirt, voice raw with emotion.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Me too, Bumper. Me too.”
I can’t imagine life without her now. Not just because she makes the dark parts easier to bear, but because she’s a force—unapologetic and fierce, even when she’s broken. And I’ve fallen for all of it. The light, the shadows, the messy in-between.
We walk for hours. The conversation flowing like a current between us, lighthearted and deep all at once. We talk about everything and nothing and I don’t want this night to end. Millie isn’t just a nanny to me—she’s a damn force of nature, and I’m just lucky enough to be in her orbit.
The stars come out, scattered like silver dust above us, and I pull her closer to my side. The quiet between us feels sacred, like the world shrinks to just the two of us. She leans her head on my shoulder, and I feel this fragile peace settle between us. For a moment, I wonder if this could be the beginning of our healing.
