Say something,Edie told herself.Tell him you're sorry. Tell him you wish things were different. Tell him the truth.
But the truth was too big, too messy, too likely to make her stay when she needed to go. So she kept quiet and kept moving andtried not to notice how his hands shook slightly when he set down the box containing her painting supplies.
"That's the last one."
His voice was rough. Wrong. Like the words had to fight their way past something lodged in his throat.
"Yeah."
She stood at the door of her camper—her camper, her mobile home, the metal box she'd been living in for years—and looked at the space that should have felt familiar. The narrow bed with its colorful quilts. The tiny kitchen where she'd burned more meals than she'd successfully cooked. The walls covered in postcards and photos and memories from all the places she'd passed through.
It felt like a coffin.
Stop being dramatic.
"Do you need anything else?"
Tarmek stood at the bottom of the camper steps, too big for this space, too important for this moment. He'd helped her move out of his home without a single complaint, without a single attempt to change her mind, without anything but that grim silence that told her how much this was costing him.
I need you,she thought.I need you to tell me I'm making a mistake. I need you to fight for this.
But he wouldn't. He'd promised her space. Promised he'd support whatever she decided. Promised he'd let her go if that's what she wanted.
Stupid, honorable, wonderful male.
"I'm good."
"The heater?—"
"I know. You fixed it." She couldn't keep the catch out of her voice. "Weeks ago."
His jaw tightened. "I should have told you."
"Why didn't you?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it, and the look on his face nearly broke her.
"You know why."
Because you wanted me to stay. Because telling me the camper was fixed meant giving me the option to leave. Because you were hoping that if I stayed long enough, I'd choose to stay forever.
"Tarmek—"
"It's fine." The words came out flat. Controlled. Exactly the opposite of what she knew he was feeling. "You need space. I understand."
"Do you?"
"I'm trying to."
She wanted to scream at him. Wanted to shake him until he stopped being so goddamn understanding and actually fought for what they had. Wanted him to give her an excuse to stay—an ultimatum, a plea, anything other than this quiet acceptance that felt like surrender.
But asking him to fight wasn't fair when she was the one who couldn't commit. Wasn't fair when she was the one building walls and preparing exits and treating their relationship like something that was already over.
"I'm not..." She stopped, started again. "This isn't me leaving. Not yet. The mural's not finished."
"I know."
"I just need... I need to think. Without you right there. Without your coffee and your stupid organized cabinets and your..." Love. Your love that I don't deserve. "Your everything."
