Page 105 of Cooking Up My Comeback

My voice cracks a little. Four years later, and it still feels like swallowing glass.

“After the funeral, I sold everything and moved to South Carolina. Started flipping houses because it was something to do with my hands. Something that didn’t require thinking about the future or feelings or any of the stuff I was trying not to feel.”

I stare at my hands that have torn down walls and built new ones, over and over, like some kind of penance.

“Four years of telling myself I was healing when really I was hiding. And now I’m sitting here with you, feeling things I swore I’d never feel again, and I’m terrified.”

“Of what?”

“Of losing you, watching your kids grow up without you, and caring this much and having it all disappear.” My voice breaks. “Because what if I’m not strong enough to survive losing the person I love again?”

She reaches for my hand, intertwining our fingers. “You want to know what I think?”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

“I think loving people always involves risk. But the alternative—living afraid—isn’t really living at all. And I think Megan wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life scared to care about anyone.”

The truth in her words hits me square in the chest.

“I know you’re right,” I say quietly. “About Megan not wanting me to live afraid. About what we’re building being worth the risk. It’s just...” I struggle to find the words. “What if I love you and something happens? What if I let your kids get attached to me and then?—”

“Then what?” she asks gently.

“Then I become another person who leaves them. Like their father did.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and I can see her processing this. “Is that what you’re really afraid of? That you’ll leave us?”

“No.” The word comes out fiercer than I intended. “I’m afraid something will happen to me. I’m afraid of dying and leaving you to pick up the pieces.”

Her expression shifts as understanding dawns. “Brett...”

“I know it sounds paranoid, but Megan and I had plans too. We were going to grow old together, maybe have kids, build a life. And then some drunk driver just... took it all away in an instant.”

“So you’re not planning an exit strategy,” she says slowly. “You’re afraid of having one forced on you.”

“Exactly.” I run my hands through my hair. “And I can see in your eyes sometimes that you’re waiting for me to disappoint you. Like Chad did. So maybe it would be easier if I just?—”

“If you just what? Disappoint me now and get it over with?” There’s steel in her voice now, and the understanding in her eyes is quickly shifting to something sharper. “That’s not protecting anyone, Brett. That’s just fear dressed up as nobility.”

I can see the exact moment her compassion hardens into frustration.

“I’m not Chad,” I say quietly.

“No, you’re not.” She stands abruptly, putting distance between us. “Chad chose to leave every time things got difficult. But you know what, Brett? From where I’m sitting, the result looks exactly the same.”

“That’s not fair?—”

“Isn’t it?” Her voice rises, and I can see years of disappointment crystallizing into anger. “You say you’re afraid of something happening to you, but what I hear issomeone already planning for failure, who’s going to hold back, keep one foot out the door, because it’s easier than actually trying.”

She starts pacing, her hands gesturing sharply. “Do you know what it’s like to have someone tell you they care about you while actively protecting themselves from caring too much? Because I lived that for years with Chad.”

“This is completely different?—”

“Is it? Because right now you’re telling me you’re too scared to really love me in case you die. Which means my kids and I get the half-hearted version of you. The version that’s already grieving a relationship that hasn’t even started.”

The words hit like physical blows because there’s truth in them I don’t want to face.

“And you know what the worst part is?” she continues, her voice breaking slightly. “I actually understand your fear. I lost my marriage to Chad’s emotional cowardice. I know what it feels like to have life rip away everything you love.”