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Nora sleeps next to me, her tangled hair bathed in the soft morning light, barely covered by a sheet and that sexy, sweet nightgown. I run my fingers over the hickey I left on her neck, feeling the weight of what we did last night.

I was rougher than I wanted to be, but when she begged for more, I couldn’t hold back. She’s too good for me—too sweet, too gentle, too full of life. She deserves someone who can offer her everything, a man who can give her the future she dreams of. I’m not that man.

I’m too scarred, too damaged by my past to be the one she needs.

I’ve lived a life full of mistakes, pain, and regret—nothing she should have to carry.

I should’ve walked away before I let her give me her virginity, but she looked at me, her eyes filled with love and warmth, and I fucking couldn’t resist.

She wants me to stay, but staying would be the worst thing I could do to her.

I’m not built for love, not built for a life with someone who deserves more than I can give.

The way she gave herself to me so freely—so trusting, so willing—makes me ache with guilt.

She doesn’t know it, but she’s tied herself to me, and I can’t keep her here, not when I know I’m incapable of offering the life she deserves.

I’m not enough for her. I’m barely enough for myself. And yet, last night, holding her, I felt happiness for the first time in years. That thought tears me apart. Because I know I have to leave. I can’t stay, even though every part of me wants to.

I kiss her forehead softly, wishing I could be the man she deserves.

I dress quickly, fighting the urge to stay.

I glance back at her, once, twice. It fucking hurts to leave, but it’s the right thing to do.

She’s too pure, too full of hope for a life that’s meant to be shared with someone better than me.

Leaving her with a memory of a good first time is better than dragging her through a painful relationship that’s sure to end. I’m not built for this. I can’t be the man she needs.

I’ll carry the guilt of hurting her. I’ll let her hate me because I deserve it. But I know she’ll be better off without me. She’ll find the love she deserves, the kind of man who can offer her everything I never could. And she’ll move on—get stronger, better, and find the life she’s meant to have.

As I lock the door behind me, I feel every step pulling me further from what I want, but closer to what I know is right. It’s for her. One day, she’ll find someone who can be the man I can’t. Someone who can give her the life she deserves. Not me. Never me.

***

By the twenty-four-hour mark, I wish I could be the man she deserves, the one who could give her everything.

The pain I’ve caused her weighs on me, every breath a reminder of how much I’ve fucked this up. If me leaving her after our first kiss hurt her, I can’t imagine what she’s feeling now.

But going back right now would only make things worse. It would confuse her, make her think there’s hope when I’m still too fucked up to give her anything solid. I can’t be the man she needs yet, not like this. The only choice is to stay away for a while, let her get the space she deserves.

I’ll disappear for a few days. I won’t let her see me, let the distance turn her pain into something more manageable—maybe even hate. I tell myself it’ll only take five days for her to get over me. But deep down, I know it’s not just about the space. I’m not coming back.

I last three days, but each time I don’t see her—don’t catch her scent or hear her voice—it chips away at me.

On day four, I nearly run into her as I push back through the meadow, the same trail she promised was clear but isn’t. I hear her humming and, like the coward I am, I slip into the trees. Nora pauses, looks over the meadow, pulls out her phone, and exhales deeply.

She walks to a scarred, burned tree, her fingers brushing the brittle trunk as she closes her eyes. I almost go to her, just to check if she’s okay, but I stop myself. I’ve already hurt her once, and I don’t know if I can pretend like nothing happened between us.

Before I can decide, she turns and walks away, retracing her steps.

Why? Why hike all the way out here just to touch a burned tree and leave?

It doesn't matter. I’m not the man she needs. I’ll stay away, give her the space to heal, and eventually, she’ll find the love she deserves. Someone who isn’t broken, someone who can offer her the future I can’t.

I’ll carry this guilt. I’ll let her hate me if it helps her move on. It’s better this way. She’ll find her way, and I’ll fade from her life, no matter how much it tears me apart inside.

I open the door of my car to get into my solitary home, the strap of my backpack catching on the glove box.

Her letter falls out, fluttering to the ground.

I pause, staring at it for a moment before I reach down to pick it up.

I’d already read the front, assumed that was all she had to say, that her sign-off meant the end of it.

But when I flip it over, I see more.

I want to find where we met. The tree that lost all its branches and is burned but still alive. If it’s still alive, then it’s proof anyone can survive no matter how broken. If it has new branches, then survivors can thrive and have a place of their own too. Just like I hope we both can.

I grip the letter, my fingers tightening around it as my chest aches, the weight of it nearly suffocating me.

There’s no way to respond to this, no words that will ever be enough.

I want to tell her it’s there, that it’s growing stronger, blooming every spring.

I want to tell her that tree has thrived, that people stop and admire it, just like I know she will too, someday—when she’s moved past me.

“Fuck,” I hiss.

What do I do now? Protect her from the heartache this will cause, tell her she’ll survive this, too? Or keep her safe from the mess I am, from the still-open wounds that will never fully heal?

There’s no winning. No right choice. For the first time, I’m stuck, caught between a rock and a hard place, with no idea which way to go.