She took a sip of her drink, then set it down. “So,” she said. “What do you actually want?”
The question caught me off guard.
“I …” I laughed softly. “That feels unfairly deep this early in the day.”
She didn’t smile. “I’m serious.”
I stared at my drink, watching the steam rise.
“I want to keep building my business,” I said slowly. “I want to prove I can do this on my own.”
She nodded. “And Ledger?”
The pause said everything.
Because what I wanted wasn’t clean or convenient. It didn’t fit into the careful plans I’d been making for myself, the ones with contingencies and exit ramps. Wanting Ledger meant wanting someone who had seen me at my most unguarded. Someone who could disappoint me. Someone who could leave.
I wanted him to stay.
“I want us to feel like an option. Not just when it’s easy. Not just when I fit neatly into his schedule. I don’t want to feel like I disappear the second things get hard.”
Livvi’s expression softened, but her voice stayed supportive. “And what are you doing about that?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m letting him pull away.”
“Why?”
The answers stacked up one after the other, heavy and recurrent.
Because it was safer.
Because if I didn’t reach for him, I couldn’t be rejected.
Because I’d spent my whole life being chosen for the wrong reasons, and the idea of wanting someone who might not choose me back felt unbearable.
“I think I’ve been protecting myself,” I said quietly.
Livvi leaned forward. “Protection isn’t the same thing as pretending you don’t care.”
The truth settled uncomfortably.
We stayed there longer after that, talking about everything and nothing. About work and sexy swimmers. She didn’t try to fix anything. She didn’t rush me toward a conclusion. She just let me say things out loud that had been rattling around in my head for weeks, messy and unpolished and honest.
By the time we stood to leave, my coffee was cold and my chest felt lighter than it had in days. I hugged her outside the café, grateful in a way that went deeper than words—for the listening, for the steadiness, for thereminder that I didn’t have to sort any of this out alone.
But as I walked home afterward with my head buzzing, the truth filled me with dread.
Fear simmered. Not at the idea of the marriage ending, but at the thought of needing him to stay, and realizing that wanting it wasn’t enough.
That night, when Ledger came home late, exhausted and distant, I didn’t chase him. I didn’t confront him. I didn’t demand answers he wasn’t ready to give.
But I also didn’t pretend everything was fine.
I went to bed with my feelings intact and my resolve renewed.
I wouldn’t beg him to choose me or to give us a chance.
But I also wouldn’t keep shrinking myself to make it easier for him to walk away.
