Page 23 of June

In many ways, the last two months had been a dream.

Liam and I slipped into a rhythm, one that felt soft and sure, like the ocean lapping against shore. We went on long drives beneath starlit skies, shared coffee in sun-drenched cafés, and spent entire afternoons wrapped up in laughter and lazy kisses. He'd surprise me with late-night meteor showers, and I, in turn, took him on small adventures, hidden bookshops, picnics in places I swore no one else knew, even a spontaneous stargazing trip to a dark-sky park.

He made me feel adored. Chosen. Seen.

Aaron meanwhile kept sending letter after letter—pages filled with tangled apologies, words dipped in remorse and stitched with hope. He wrote about the nights he couldn't sleep, the mornings that felt empty without me, the way patience was eating at him but he was willing to wait as long as it took. Every envelope smelled faintly of his cologne, as if he hoped the scent would carry a piece of him to me. Alongside the letters came small gifts, things he said reminded him of me: a pressed flower from a hike we once took, a scarf in my favorite shade of blue, books he thought I'd love. Each one felt like a quiet knock on my heart, asking to be let back in.

So even during the most perfect moments with Liam—there was a whisper at the back of my mind. A quiet thread of doubt. Guilt. Insecurity.

Is this too soon?

Do I deserve this happiness?

The house was quiet in the way only late evenings could be, filled with soft, familiar sounds: the hum of the refrigerator, the occasional creak of old wood, the gentle clink of my spoon against the mug I kept stirring, even though my tea had long gone cold.

Dad sat across from me at the kitchen table, his reading glasses slipping low on his nose as he flipped a page in his book. The lamp beside him cast a soft amber glow that made the kitchen feel warmer than usual. Safe. Still, my stomach churned.

I'd been holding everything in for too long. He glanced up, his eyes meeting mine for just a second before he closed the book slowly.

"You've been quiet lately,"

he said gently.

"Something on your mind?"

That's all it took. One small opening, and suddenly the ache I'd been carrying began to rise, pressing against my throat. I stared down at my mug, afraid that if I looked at him too long, I'd fall apart completely.

"I don't know what to do,"

I whispered.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady the swirling thoughts in my mind. The words caught in my throat, thick and tangled, but I forced them out anyway.

"You know I have to go back to my studio soon,"

I began, my voice barely above a whisper.

"And part of me is excited. I miss it—my space, my work, the rhythm of creating again. But another part of me... it's terrified. Because this, this thing with Liam, it's been so beautiful and that scares me."

I felt the tears welling up again, hot and unwelcome.

"I feel guilty,"

I admitted, my chest tightening.

"Guilty for feeling this happy with him. Guilty because it's only been a few months and it already feels so deep, so real. Like I could fall all the way in. But also... insecure."

I looked down at my hands in my lap, twisting my fingers together.

"What if he leaves?"

My voice cracked, the words tasting like old fears I thought I'd buried.

"What if he wakes up one day and realizes I'm not enough? That I'm too much, or too broken, or just... not what he thought I was. What if this is just the honeymoon phase, and one morning he looks at me and sees every flaw, every scar, and decides he can't love me through them?"

I could feel my dad's steady gaze on me, his silence telling me I could keep going.

"Aaron left,"

I said, louder this time, the name sharp on my tongue.

"After six years. Six. I gave him everything. I thought that kind of time meant something, that love like that couldn't just disappear. But it did. Or at least, it wasn't enough to keep us from breaking. So how am I supposed to believe that something so new with Liam won't fall apart too?"

The words spilled out in a rush, raw and unfiltered. I swallowed hard and looked up, eyes full of tears.

"Sometimes I think this is just the calm before another storm, and the worst part? Liam has done nothing to deserve this fear, this doubt. He's been patient, kind, constant and yet, I'm still scared that the second I lean in too far, he'll let go."

"And then I can't get rid of the letters,"

I said, my voice catching. It felt like something sharp was lodged in my throat, a truth I didn't want to admit but could no longer keep buried.

"They're still there... in that drawer, tucked away like ghosts. I've opened them. Reread them. I don't even know why. It's not that I want to go back to Aaron. I don't. But the idea of throwing them away—it feels so... final. Like closing a door I haven't fully accepted was ever opened."

My voice trembled, my heart thudding hard in my chest.

"And that makes me feel guilty too. Guilty towards Liam. Am I betraying him somehow? By holding onto these pieces of a life I no longer want but can't quite let go of?"

The tears came again, fast and full. I couldn't stop them this time. My shoulders shook under the weight of it all—confusion, guilt, fear. This unbearable sense that no matter what I did, I was doing something wrong.

Dad stood without a word, crossed the space between us, and pulled me into his arms. His hug was immediate and strong, no hesitation. The moment I felt his hand cradle the back of my head and the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest against mine, I broke completely.

I sobbed into his shoulder like I was ten years old again, like I had scraped my knees and needed someone to tell me the pain would pass.

"I feel like I'm caught between two lives,"

I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

"Like I'm standing with one foot in the past and one in the present, but I don't fully belong in either place."

The words tumbled out, heavier than I expected. I looked down at my hands, twisting them in my lap, ashamed of the truth I was finally voicing.

"I wake up next to Liam and it feels warm, safe, right. He makes me feel seen in a way I didn't know I needed. And then... there are these moments when I am alone, when the past just rushes in like a tide I can't stop."

I took a shaky breath, blinking through the sting in my eyes.

"I keep thinking about the life I had with Aaron. About everything we built, even if it broke. It was still real and it's not that I want to go back to it, not really... but I also can't pretend it didn't shape me."

I looked up, my eyes meeting my dad's.

"So I'm stuck, Dad. In this awful limbo. Feeling guilty when I'm happy with Liam, like I'm not allowed to be. Feeling guilty when I miss Aaron, like I'm betraying someone. Constantly questioning if I've moved on too fast or if I've even moved on at all."

I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to stop the spinning in my head.

"It's like no matter what I do, I'm doing something wrong. And I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to move forward when part of me keeps looking over my shoulder."

"You're allowed to have those feelings, June,"

Dad murmured into my hair, his arms still wrapped around me like a harbor. His voice was low, steady—anchoring me, tethering me to the present when my emotions felt like they were scattering in a thousand directions.

"You're grieving. And not just the relationship, not just Aaron. You're grieving the version of yourself that existed in that life. The girl who loved him. The girl who thought forever looked one particular way."

He gently pulled back to look at me, brushing a tear away with the side of his thumb.

"That kind of grief is quiet and complicated. It sneaks in when you're laughing with someone new. When you're happy. Especially then and it makes you question everything—your heart, your future, even your right to move on."

I bit my lip to keep it from trembling, but it was no use. The tears kept slipping down my cheeks. His voice softened further.

"But you do have the right, Junebug. You've earned it. You're not dishonoring your past by finding something beautiful in your present. You're not betraying Aaron by caring for Liam. And you're not betraying Liam by needing time to understand the mess inside you."

He gave my hand a small squeeze.

"You loved deeply once. That doesn't just vanish overnight and it doesn't mean you can't love again—maybe even deeper this time, because now you know what's at stake. What matters."

I nodded through the tears, the ache in my chest loosening just enough for his words to slip through.

"Be gentle with yourself,"

he said, holding my gaze.

"And talk to him, June. Liam's not going to run just because you're scared. He's not Aaron. Let him see your doubt. Let him hold it with you. That's what love is."

******

Later that day, I found myself standing in front of Liam's apartment, my heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and dread. As I rang the doorbell, the familiar warmth of his presence enveloped me the moment he opened the door, his smile as radiant as ever.

"Hey,"

he said, stepping aside so I could slip in. The scent of something warm and sweet wrapped around me immediately.

"Come on in. I was just baking. Trying a new recipe; it's basically astronomy in an apron. You've got your constants, like flour and sugar, your fixed stars. But then the variables sneak in—the way the butter melts, the dough rises kind of like how a supernova scatters elements into something entirely new."

I laughed, the tight knot in my chest loosening.

"Only you could compare cookies to the death of a star."

He shot me a mock-offended look as he closed the oven door.

"Hey, every dessert has its own solar system. This one's got a dense molten core, some sugary spiral arms, and—if I've got the timing right—a golden crust that could give Saturn's rings an inferiority complex."

As I stepped inside, the comforting scent of freshly baked goods filled the air. But despite the cozy atmosphere, I couldn't shake the heaviness in my heart.

Liam turned to face me, his expression shifting to one of concern. "Junie,"

he said gently.

"I've been waiting for you to tell me what's been going on. I know you've been carrying something, something you haven't shared yet and I think it's time."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. He had always been perceptive, always attuned to the subtle shifts in my mood.

"Let me guess,"

he continued, his voice soft but knowing.

"You're starting to feel something for me, and that's messing with you. You're wondering if it's too soon, if you're betraying someone else. Am I right?"

Tears welled up in my eyes as I nodded. "Yes,"

I whispered, my voice breaking.

"I feel so happy with you, but I can't shake the guilt.

"I have to go back anyway for the studio and my job but I am scared of what would happen."

Then I told him about all those feelings of guilt and fear, Liam stepped closer, his presence grounding me. He took my hands in his, leading me to the living room where we sat down together. His touch was warm, reassuring.

"First of all,"

he said, his voice steady.

"I want you to stop feeling guilty for having these feelings. You were with Aaron for six years. That's a significant part of your life. What you're feeling now doesn't erase that."

I nodded, grateful for his understanding.

"Second,"

he continued.

"you've been through something traumatic. Healing isn't linear. It's okay to still have moments where the past feels close. But that doesn't mean you're stuck in it."

He paused, his gaze meeting mine with unwavering sincerity.

Tears streamed down my face, but this time, they were tears of relief. For the first time in months, I felt like I had permission to be honest with myself, to explore what I truly needed without fear of judgment.

"Hey... listen,"

Liam said quietly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

"I think we should take advantage of you going back."

I frowned.

"What? How?"

He exhaled slowly, like the words were heavier than air. His gaze found mine and held it.

"I think we need a break. Not to run away from each other to give you space. Space to hear your own voice without mine in your ear. To focus on you. On what you want. Who you want and to choose only what truly calls to you."

He leaned back slightly, eyes steady, searching my face as if he could read the thoughts I wasn't ready to say.

"Maybe it means forgiving and moving forward. Maybe it's giving a six-year relationship another shot, seeing if the cracks can be mended. Or maybe"—a faint, almost boyish smile flickered across his lips, the kind that looked like it wasn't sure it had permission to exist—"it's jumping in with me, letting me spend a lifetime wrapping you in affection and scattering stardust at your feet until you forget what it's like to feel alone. Or maybe it's choosing yourself. Traveling the world, chasing sunsets until you forget which horizon you started from, collecting fragments of who you are from every city, every shoreline, every stranger's story... until one day you realize you're whole in a way you've never been before, and the missing pieces aren't missing anymore."

"Liam... I—"

"But if you come back to me,"

he cut in gently, his voice deepening with a certainty that seemed to anchor the air around them.

"that's it. You'll be mine, not in the way of possession, but in the way the moon belongs to the night sky. My princess. My queen. My compass in the dark and my dawn after the longest night. My safe harbor after storms, my fire when the cold sets in. My beginning and my end, and everything between that makes life worth living.

We'll still be two bodies, but one soul—threads woven together so tightly that no distance, no shadow, could pull us apart. I'm not here to play at this. I'm not here for half-measures or for something beautiful but temporary. My intentions are a lifetime, commitment in its truest, most stubborn form. If you take my hand again, I will spend every day making sure you never doubt the safety of where you stand with me. it's a vow."

His hands framed my face, thumbs brushing along my cheekbones like he was memorizing them.

"I don't want to scare you. But if you're back... you're mine and I am all yours."

My throat tightened.

"What if I don't come back to you?"

Liam's smile was small, steady.

"Then I'll still be here. Cheering you on from wherever I am. Because your happiness, whatever shape it takes, is all I want. Even if it's without me."