Page 23

Jennifer

I bolted from the library and Dylan’s question: “Why did we fall apart, Jen?”

My shoes crunched on the gravel path as I burst into the garden, the evening air laden with the scent of roses and regret.

I wasn’t running from him, not really. I was running from the truth I’d buried, the one I’d spent seven years reshaping into a story where I was the victim, not the villain.

My breath steadied, and I stopped under an arch of climbing roses, their petals trembling in the twilight.

I wasn’t that girl anymore, the one who’d let fear and lies shatter us.

I’d chosen to stay, to fight for him, and that meant facing what I’d done.

But God, the weight of it. I wanted him to remember, to know me, all of me, even the parts I hated. Even though I dreaded the moment he would.

Dylan’s footsteps sounded behind me, deliberate and not rushed. “Jen,” he said, his voice low, threaded with worry but steady, like he was bracing for a storm. He stopped close, his warmth cutting through the chill, his eyes searching mine. “Don’t run from me. Whatever it is, just say it.”

I met his gaze, my heart pounding but my resolve hardening.

“I’m not running,” I said, surprising myself with the steel in my voice.

“Just taking a moment. I’m scared, Dylan, but I’m here.

And this time I’m staying.” My fingers brushed the engagement ring on my hand, the one I’d thrown at him years ago, now a fragile promise we were trying to keep.

“You just forgave your parents for doubting you. I keep hoping you’ll forgive me, too. ”

A thought hit me then, and it was an uncomfortable one.

No, I hadn’t cheated on Dylan, but I wasn’t perfect.

I’d hurt Dylan just as profoundly. I was beginning to see that my parents’ relationship shouldn’t rise or fall in response to how I felt about it.

Right there in the garden, it didn’t matter if the world took a vote and decided I was worthy or unworthy of Dylan’s love.

All that mattered was him and how I couldn’t imagine my future without him in it.

Perhaps my parents’ marriage was both that complicated and that simple.

Regardless of their imperfections, they wanted to be together more than they wanted to be apart.

“Doubting me?” Dylan’s brow furrowed, confusion deepening the lines on his face.

Oh, no. I hadn’t meant to say that part.

He continued, “Forgive you for what? Jen, I don’t remember enough to be angry, but I feel that something significant happened. It’s festering between us and will until we face it. Tell me.”

The air between us thickened, like a memory pressing too close.

I could still see that night seven years ago—his parents, the photos, Carla’s words echoing in my head, my accusations spilling like poison.

I’d been so sure, so righteous, and so wrong.

The shame of it burned, but I wasn’t that person anymore.

I’d stayed by his hospital bed, worn his ring again, loved him through his broken memories. I could face this.

“I made a mistake,” I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my chest. “A big one. And it broke us.” I took a step closer, refusing to let fear silence me. “I want to tell you, Dylan, but I’m afraid it’ll change how you look at me. I don’t want to lose you again.”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. His hand found mine, his grip firm, grounding. “You won’t lose me,” he said, his voice fierce with conviction. “Whatever happened, we’re here now. But not knowing has become harder than knowing. I’m chasing shadows in my head.”

My throat tightened, but I nodded, the decision made.

The past wasn’t gone, it was all around us and would either break us or make us stronger.

My heart ached both for him and for the version of me I was choosing to let go of.

I’d spent years convincing myself I was the good one, the one who’d been wronged, but the truth was messier.

I’d hurt him, betrayed him, and let my fear twist love into something cruel. He deserved to know the truth.

“Do you remember your cousin Carla?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, each word a step toward the cliff I’d avoided for years. Her name tasted bitter, a reminder of the lie I’d believed, the spark that set our world ablaze.

Dylan’s eyes narrowed, a spark of recognition cutting through the fog of his amnesia.

“Carla,” he repeated, his voice tightening, like he was grasping at a thread of memory.

“Yeah. We were close when we were young, but I distanced myself from her. It was sad, really, because we were family—at least, that’s how I saw us.

I haven’t seen her in years. What does she have to do with us? ”

My breath caught, my pulse hammering. This was it—the bridge to the day I’d regretted most, the day I’d let jealousy and doubt turn me into someone I didn’t recognize.

Carla had been the match, but I’d been the one who’d burned everything down.

I opened my mouth, the truth trembling on my lips, but his expression shifted, a shadow crossed his face, his jaw tightened, like a door in his mind had cracked open.

Even the garden seemed to hold its breath.

“Dylan,” I said, reaching for his hand, my voice urgent.

His fingers tightened around mine, but his gaze was slipping, drifting somewhere I couldn’t follow.

My heart fractured, knowing I’d nudged him toward the memory I feared most, the one that might break us again. But I wouldn’t run. Not this time.