Luke’s head lifts, brow creased.‘What?’
‘This,’ I repeat, gesturing vaguely around the kitchen like it’s the problem, not me.‘All of this.It was never going to work.’
He stays seated, calm in a way that makes me feel more frantic.‘We had one hard conversation, and now it’s all over?’
‘It’s not just that.’
‘Then tell me what it is.’
I shake my head, backing away from the table.‘I don’t belong here, Luke.I never did.My life is in Sydney.My job, my friends, my family.It’s what I know.What I canmanage.’
His voice is quiet but firm.‘You can managethis.’
‘No, I can’t.’My voice cracks despite me.‘You think I can transplant myself here?Wake up every day pretending this is normal for me?I don’t know how to live this way.I don’t even know how to be with someone without blowing it up.’
He stands now.Slowly.‘You’re not blowing it up.You’re running.’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘It’s true,’ he says, suddenly looking tired.‘You’re lying again, Jamie, only this time to yourself.You want this.You’re too scared to admit it.’
His words hit their mark.But I don’t flinch.I lift my chin instead, shielding the parts of me that feel suddenly, terrifyingly visible.
‘You don’t get to tell me what I want,’ I say, venomous now.‘Ineedmy city, my job, my chaos.I need the life I’ve built, because I know where I stand in it.’
‘You’re impossible.You know that, right?’
That one lands hard – so hard I almost sway.
Luke exhales, runs a hand over his face.‘If you walk out now, don’t come back.Because I’m done having arguments with you when your reflex is to run away every time.’
It’s not a threat.It’s a line in the sand.
And I know he means it.
I swallow and nod, my feet carrying me down the hall on numb legs.Past the photos, the scuff marks on the floorboards, the smell of his soap still lingering in the air.I go straight to the bedroom and pack as if I’m a woman possessed.
I’m shoving things into my bag without folding, without thinking, without breathing.
My body betrays me.My hands shake.My throat burns.I zip the bag too hard and the noise sounds like a scream.
When I make my way back down the hall, I glance at the doorway.Luke’s now standing on the front porch, arms crossed, bracing for a storm.
He doesn’t say a word.
And maybe that’s what hurts most – he’s letting me go.
I want him to fight.To beg.To prove me wrong about everything I’ve ever believed about love and men and promises.
But he just stands there.Still.Silent.Watching the person he let in … walk away.
And I do.
The screen door creaks behind me.Then it slams shut.The sound cuts through the quiet like a final word.
I don’t turn around.
I walk to the rental car, toss my bag into the passenger seat harder than I mean to.My hands fumble with the keys, making them jangle, too fast, too loud.The sun is already climbing high, too bright for how hollow the world feels.
