Every version of me, every messy, broken, hopeful piece I’ve ever been, was always waiting for him. I think that’s what nobody really tells you about that soulful kind of love.
It’s not loud or dramatic or performative. It’s not something you talk yourself into or out of.
It’s undeniable. When you know, you justknow.
And I know him in that once in a lifetime, nothing before or after will ever touch this, kind of way. The love I thought I knew before him is a tiny flicker in the dark. Brief little sparks trying their best to catch.
Knox is the wildfire. The thing that consumes everything I thought I knew and leaves me standing in the middle of the wreckage, terrified and more alive than I’ve ever been. And maybe that’s what scares me most. Not that I love him, but that I’ve been waiting for him my whole life without even realizing it.
I should’ve known better. Ididknow better, and still, I let myself fall. Wide open, no parachute, heart first into something that felt so impossibly rare.
But he’smarried.
There has to be more to it.
I never saw it coming. No ring. No shadow of another woman in his life. No whispered conversations when he thought I wasn’t listening. It wasus. Lunches that stretched long because neither of us wanted to leave. Late-night calls that wandered past midnight. Easy, everyday intimacy that never felt borrowed or stolen.
It was so real. What hurts most is the thought that I could’ve been so wrong about someone who felt like home.
Underneath the pain, there’s this steady calm that pushes in. I can’t keep losing myself in people who don’t choose me all the way. I can’t keep handing over pieces of my heart to anyone who’ll take them.
Maybe that’s why this next part feels so natural. Like muscle memory. Like slipping back into something familiar and safe.
I need distance. Space to breathe. To think.
Tomorrow, I’ll call him. Tonight, I just need to rest. To let the noise fade. Let my heart be mine again.
I barely sleep.
I toss and turn, my mind running through every question with no answer. Around one in the morning, Aunt Rose tapped gently at my door, but I knew I couldn’t open it without falling apart.
By the time morning comes, I’m wrung out, but there’s also this small, stubborn flicker of resolve. I might beheartbroken, but I’m not broken.
I reach for my phone, my finger hovering over Knox’s name. My pulse stutters. And then, because hiding from this won’t make it hurt any less, I press call. It rings once.
“Juliette?”
He sounds relieved but also exhausted. Good. He should be losing sleep over this mess.
I swallow hard. “We need to talk.”
There’s no pause. Just the scrape of movement on his end,the shuffle of clothes, the jingle of a belt, like he’s already moving, already halfway out the door. “Of course. Please. Can we meet?”
What does it say about me that I still want to see him?
“Yeah,” I whisper, the word small but steady. “We can meet.”
“Do you want to talk at my sister’s café?” he asks. “I can pick you up if you need me to?”
“No.” The word slips out faster than I mean for it to, instinct more than intention. “Um, no, but thank you. I’ll take my aunt’s car.”
The thought of sliding into that familiar passenger seat like nothing’s changed feels suffocating. That truck has been its own kind of safe place. Quiet drives. Easy laughter. His hand steady on the wheel, close enough to touch. I don’t trust myself in that space today.
“Okay,” he says. There’s a small catch in his voice, barely there, but I hear it. Feel it. Neither of us knows how to do this. Whateverthisis now.
“I can be there in twenty minutes,” I offer, because the silence between us is starting to hurt.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
