I picture myself trying to explain. Trying to justify. Words tumbling out too fast.
And the quiet horror on his face when he realizes I’m serious.
Scenario two: anger.
Jake sitting up fast, eyes blazing, the vein in his neck jumping, his voice a harsh whisper.
“What the hell did you do?”
I picture him pacing. Dragging a hand through his hair. Swearing. Slamming his palm against the wall.
I picture him looking at me like I’m a stranger.
Like the woman he’s been making dinner with, waking up beside, touching like she matters… is gone.
Scenario three: resignation.
That one might be the worst.
Jake’s shoulders sagging. His eyes going distant. His voice going flat.
“Okay.”
Like he expected this eventually. Like he’s disappointed but not surprised. Like I was always going to leave.
And then there’s the truly unbearable version.
The one that hits me in the ribs and won’t let go.
Him staying out of duty. Against his will. Resenting me for it for the rest of his life.
Because he’s the kind of man who does what he thinks is right, even when it destroys him.
I don’t want that.
I don’t want him to feel trapped.
I stare at the ceiling again and feel tears burn behind my eyes.
Leaving is the most loving thing I can do.
It’s the only way to protect him.
The decision settles in my chest like something heavy and final.
I lie there for another hour, maybe two, listening to Jake breathe. Listening to the house creak softly. Listening to Bear sigh on the rug at the foot of the bed like he’s dreaming.
At some point, Jake shifts, half asleep. His hand brushes my hip.
My entire chest squeezes.
I hold my breath until he stills again.
Then I whisper into the dark, so quietly I’m not sure it counts as sound.
“I’m sorry.”
***
