She shakes her head, tears gathering. “You don’t get it. You act like I’m choosing to feel like this.”
“And you act like I’m not in it with you,” I fire back, standing now.
“That’s not what I said—”
“But it’s how you act,” I cut in, heat rising up my neck. “Like you’re the only one hurting. Like you’re the only one carrying this.”
Her lashes flutter in disbelief.
“You just… It’s alwaysyourpain.Yourfear.Yourdisappointment.”
She blinks.
“It’s wearing on me too, Megan.”
Silence.
“I’m the guy,” I add, hand pressing to my chest. “I’m the one who’s supposed to make it happen. And it’s not happening. So don’t stand here and act like it’s all you.”
Her lips part, but nothing comes out.
“It’s wrecking me.” I press on, “Every single month I watch you fall apart, and all I can think is,Why can’t I fix this? Why can’t I give her what she wants?”
“Mason…” she whispers, but I’m already in it too deep to stop.
“I try to make up for it too. God knows I do. I wake up every day thinking about you. Thinking about making you happy. Making you smile. Making your life easier. Because that’s what I want. That’s what I love. So when I can’t make this one thing happen?” I shake my head, throat burning. “Yeah. It’s freakin’ wrecking me. Right alongside you.”
Her eyes fill immediately—shock, guilt, heartbreak…all tangled together. But she doesn’t say anything, she just looks down, tears streaming down her cheeks, hitting her shirt. My heart knows I should hug her, console her, but my body doesn’t let me. I just stand here, chest rising and falling, all of it finally out in the open between us, raw and unfiltered, like the truth had been rattling around in me too long to keep quiet anymore.
“You wanna go to church or not?” I ask, taking one step forward. She shakes her head and sniffles.
“Okay. Well…” I clear my throat. “I need it today. So I’m going.” I step past her into the house. I don’t shut the door behind me, just in case she has something else to say.
I fill a coffee to go, grab my phone, grab my keys, and leave.
* * *
I slip into my usual spot, right beside Cody, and the rest of the family follows down the pew. Almost all of them give me a face, wondering where Megan is without saying. I just gesture my hand to not ask and that’s she’s fine. Even though she’s not fine.
The sanctuary is cool and bright, sunlight pushing throughthe stained glass windows. People settle in around me, families filling in spaces.
Normally, this place feels steady. Like the one spot in the world that calms the noise in my head.
Today? I feel like I walked in here missing something important. Probably because I did.
Pastor Charlie begins with a prayer, voice low, intentional. I bow my head, but instead of paying attention, all I see behind my eyes is Megan on the porch, tears sliding down her cheeks.
Tears I caused. God, I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I run a hand over my jaw and try to focus.
The sermon’s about patience in suffering and bearing one another’s burdens. Of course.
Everything he says feels like he’s aiming straight for me.
I think about everything I’m carrying—the fear, the pressure, the quiet ache of month after month of disappointment—and how fast I let it twist into defensiveness instead of compassion.
And then I think about her hurt. How she’s probably sitting on the porch right now thinking she ruined the whole day.
God, I’m supposed to be her safe place.
