“You don’t get to use fear as an excuse for stealing someone’s life.”
Her eyes close briefly, like the words hit exactly where they’re supposed to. “I know.”
I watch her hands. The way she keeps rubbing her thumb against the seam of the cup, small and restless.
“And,” she adds, voice rougher now, “I’m sorry that I made you doubt your own instincts. I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did. I’m sorry you had to stand there and feel like the ground moved under you.”
Something in my chest loosens.
Not forgiveness.
Release.
Because that’s what I needed from her. Not a dramatic apology or tears, or long explanations.
Just ownership.
I exhale slowly. “I’m not going to pretend this didn’t change me.”
Her gaze flickers. “I don’t want you to.” She pauses and whispers. “Please don’t hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” I say. “But I can’t be part of your life right now. I can’t be in the middle of your life and still move forwardwith mine. I’m building something with Sarah now, and I can’t blur those lines.”
Sierra’s eyes shine, and she nods like she understands the boundary even if it hurts.
“I understand,” she whispers and swallows. “Are you… happy?”
The question is careful. Not hopeful.
Just curious.
I don’t answer right away because the first thing I picture is Sarah’s face, earlier this morning, hair still damp from the shower, wearing one of my old T-shirts like she owns it. Coffee in her hand, sleep still in her eyes, and that soft smile she gives me when she sees I’m already overthinking something. ‘You’re here.’ That’s what her presence always says.
“Yes,” I tell Sierra. “I am.”
She nods, looking down. “Good.”
We sit there a moment longer, the kind of silence that isn’t hostile, just final in a quiet way.
When I stand, Sierra stands too, her hands twisting together like she doesn’t know what to do with them. In another version of this, we would’ve hugged. That would be wrong now. Instead, she holds out her hand.
I take it and give it a firm shake. “Take care of yourself,” I say, and I mean it in the only way that matters now.
She nods once. “You too.”
I leave without looking back.
Outside, the air is warm and heavy, and I stand on the sidewalk for a second, letting it force my body into the present.
Then my phone buzzes again.
My Love: You okay?
I stare at the message, thumb hovering, and feel something steady settle in my chest.
I type back.
Me: Yeah. Heading home.
