Chapter 65
Emily's POV
Ethan never hurt me. Never raised his hand. Never made me feel small or worthless or like I deserved whatever pain he inflicted.
He loved me. Protected me. Showed up for me over and over even when I was too broken to properly appreciate it.
He was good to me. So good.
And I destroyed us anyway.
The realization sat heavy in my stomach. Made me feel physically ill.
What did it say about me that I had someone like Ethan—someone kind and steady and genuinely committed—and I couldn't make it work? That I pushed him away not because he did anything wrong but because his love felt like an obligation? Like one more thing I had to manage and maintain when I was already drowning in responsibilities I'd chosen for myself?
Maybe the problem wasn't that everyone leaves.
Maybe the problem was me.
Maybe I was so fundamentally broken from everything that happened with my father that I couldn't actually sustain a healthy relationship. Couldn't accept love without treating it like a threat or a trap or something I needed to escape from.
I spent years telling myself I was prepared for people to leave.
Built emotional walls specifically designed to protect me from caring too much. From investing too deeply. From believing that anyone would actually stick around once they saw all the ugly parts I worked so hard to hide.
And then Ethan came along and somehow slipped past all those defenses. Made me believe maybe I was capable of being loved after all.
And I repaid him by proving that my first instinct was right all along.
That I wasn't built for this.
That the person I'd become—or maybe always was—was someone who chose safety and control over vulnerability every single time.
The awful part was I could trace the exact logic of how my self-protection became a self-fulfilling prophecy.
I was scared everyone would leave. So I made sure I never needed them too much. Made sure there was always a backup plan. Always an exit strategy. Always a part of myself held in reserve where no one could reach it.
And when Ethan started getting too close? When he started making noises about wanting more commitment and more access and more of whatever he thought constituted a real relationship?
I panicked and started building new walls.
Threw myself into work. Let Alex's orbit pull me away from the life Ethan and I had built together.
Pushed him away before he could leave me first.
No, he didn't leave. Not really.
I drove him to it through weeks of neglect and dismissiveness until he had no choice but to protect himself by cutting me loose.
And now I got to sit here feeling sorry for myself. Pretending this was something that happened to me rather than something I deliberately orchestrated because I was too fucked up to let anyone actually stay.
A sob tried to force its way up my throat.
I swallowed it down hard. Pressed my hand harder against my chest like I could physically hold myself together through pressure and willpower.
My eyes were leaking now despite my best efforts. Tears sliding hot down my cheeks in a way that felt both inevitable and mortifying.
I should be stronger than this.
Should be able to handle a breakup without falling apart in a hospital waiting room. Should be able to accept that relationships end and move on with the cold pragmatism I'd cultivated for exactly these situations.
But I couldn't.
I couldn't stop seeing Ethan's face. Couldn't stop hearing the hurt in his voice when he asked if I was breaking up with him. Couldn't stop feeling this awful yawning emptiness where our relationship used to be. Where his steady presence used to make me feel like maybe I was worth something after all.
And the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that I still didn't know if I actually loved him.
Or if I just loved the idea of being someone worth loving.
If I was in love with Ethan or just in love with who I got to be when I was with him. Someone softer. Someone who could accept care without treating it like a debt to be repaid. Someone who might actually deserve the kind of devotion he was offering.
I didn't know and I'd never know now.
Because I destroyed any chance of figuring it out.
"Emily." Alex's voice cut through my spiral. Quiet but insistent. "Hey. You're crying."
I swiped roughly at my face with the back of my hand. Trying to erase the evidence. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine." He shifted in his seat. Angling his body toward me. "What's going on?"
"Nothing. It's—it doesn't matter."
"Emily—"
"It hurts."
The words burst out before I could stop them. Raw and desperate.
"It hurts so much and I don't understand why. I knew this was coming. I've been preparing for this for months. I should be fine. I should be relieved. But I just—I can't—"
My voice broke completely.
Suddenly I was crying for real. The kind of ugly sobbing that you couldn't hide or minimize or pass off as allergies.
I pressed both hands against my face trying to muffle the sound. We were in public. I was making a scene. This was exactly the kind of emotional display I'd spent years training myself not to have.
But I couldn't stop.
It was like something broke open inside me and now everything was pouring out. All the grief and guilt and self-loathing I'd been carefully compartmentalizing for weeks or maybe years. All the fear that I was fundamentally unlovable. That I'd spend my whole life pushing away anyone who tried to get close because I was too damaged to let them stay.
All the desperate longing for someone to tell me I wasn't as terrible as I felt. That this hollowed-out aching in my chest didn't mean I was broken beyond repair.
I felt Alex's arm come around my shoulders. Pulling me against his side.
I should pull away. Should maintain professional distance. Should not be crying on my boss in a hospital waiting room after watching my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—punch him in the face.
But I was too exhausted and too heartbroken to care about should.
So I let him hold me while I cried into his shoulder. While I shook apart in a way I hadn't let myself shake apart since I was eighteen and watching my father get dragged away in handcuffs.
And I thought: This is what I do. This is who I am. I destroy good things because I'm too afraid to believe they're real.