I look down at our joined hands—hers thinner now, veins more visible, but still warm. “I told him to go after Maggie. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“You thought you were protecting yourself,” she corrects. “And maybe him too.”
“I don’t want to need someone,” I admit. “Every time I do, they leave. Dad left. People always leave when things get hard.”
She squeezes my fingers. “Sweetheart… Miles didn’t leave when things got hard. He showed up at the hospital. With snacks.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Him and his snacks.”
“He’s thoughtful.”
He’s the most thoughtful man I’ve ever met.
“And I told him,” she continues, “that you don’t push people away because you don’t care. You push them away to protect yourself. It’s self-preservation.”
I draw in a slow breath. She’s right. It’s always easier to be the one who walks away than the one left standing.
“And I told him,” she adds, “that if he’s patient enough, you’ll find your way back. You always do.”
A thick silence settles between us, but not uncomfortable.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper.
She leans back against the pillows. “You don’t have to know yet. But you do have to stop pretending he doesn’t matter.”
I nod, blinking fast. Because he does. He matters more than I’ve been willing to admit. And maybe—just maybe—that isn’t the worst thing.
“Alright,” She shifts on the bed. “Let’s break me out of here so I don’t have to spend another night in this prison.”
I snort. “I’m not smuggling you out of a hospital.”
“Good. Because you don’t have to. They’re discharging me. Everything checks out. The nurse should be back any minute with my papers.”
After we make hummus cucumber wraps for lunch, I collapse onto the couch while Mom settles into her chair. Yesterday is a blur—starting with me bolting out of the hospital. I didn’t go home. I drove. Aimlessly. Miles of pavement slipping past until I found myself parked at the RC field.
It was quiet. Empty. I sat on the edge of the grass until the sky went dark, just like that night with Miles in the back of his SUV. Eventually, exhaustion won. I went to Mom’s townhouse and crashed on the couch for a few hours, still fully dressed, still pretending I wasn’t unraveling, before going back to the hospital.
“I wasn’t supposed to fall for him,” I whisper.
Mom’s hand stills around her mug.
“I mean it,” I rush on. “This was never part of the plan. He was a favor. A transaction. Fake dating. That’s all it was ever supposed to be.” My voice breaks on the last word.
“But?” she asks gently.
“But I fell,” I breathe. “And I fell hard.”
She doesn’t interrupt. She doesn’t reach for me right away either. The pause stretches—long enough for me to keep going.
“I didn’t trip,” I say, tears slipping free now. “I didn’t stumble. I fell slowly. Stupidly. In every small moment we spent together.” I scrub at my cheeks. “He never makes me feel like I’m too much—or not enough.” My voice drops to a whisper. “I wasn’t meant to love him. But I do.”
Mom’s eyes shine—not with surprise, but with understanding. “And that scares you.”
“Yes,” I sob. “Because loving him means risking everything. Admitting I want a future I can’t control. Believing I might actually get to keep something good.”
She sets her mug aside, rises from her chair, and sits beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Nora, you didn’t fall for him by accident.”
I shake my head. “Mom, you don’t understand?—”
