Page 45 of Angel
“I pictured it,” I admit. My voice is rougher now. “The kid. On the back of my bike during parades. Tiny hands grabbing onto my vest. I already knew how I’d teach ’em to ride. What I’d say the first time they fell.”
I swallow hard. “I even had names in my head. Never told her. Didn’t want to jinx it.”
“And losing that future hurt,” she says.
“It still does.” The room feels smaller again.
“I don’t know how to grieve somethin’ that never existed,” I mutter. “Feels stupid.”
“It’s not,” she says firmly. “Grief doesn’t require proof. Just attachment.”
That hits harder than I expected. Because I was attached, deeply and quietly. In ways I never let myself acknowledge.
“I thought if I stayed strong,” I continue, “if I didn’t break, she’d feel safe.”
“And did you feel safe?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I felt… useless.”
There it is. The word I’ve been avoiding. Useless.
“I couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t take it from her. And every time she looked at me, I saw the question in her eyes.”
“What question?”
“Is this enough?”
The silence that follows is different. Sharper.
“You’re afraid she’ll choose the dream over you,” Carina says quietly.
I don’t answer. Because she’s right. And saying it out loud feels like betrayal.
“I’m scared,” I finally admit. “If this never happens, if we never have kids, she’ll wake up one day and realize love isn’t enough to fill that space.”
“And what does that say about you?” she asks.
“That I stood between her and the life she wanted.” She doesn’t rush to contradict me.
“That’s a powerful fear,” she says. “But it assumes her love for you is conditional.”
“It’s not,” I say immediately.
“Then why do you believe she would leave if the dream changed?”
I don’t have an answer for that, maybe because I don’t know how to see myself outside of what I provide. I’ve built my whole identity around being the man who delivers.
“You are not responsible for becoming someone else’s entire future,” she says gently. “You are responsible for growing alongside them.”
Growing.That word again. Seems like everyone’s talkin’ about it lately. The session ends without fireworks. No breakthrough moment or clean answers. Just a quiet understanding that I’ve been carrying more than I admitted.
After the session, I sit in my truck for a long time. Engine off. Hands on the wheel. The steering wheel’s worn smooth from years of grip. Feels solid.Reliable.Unlike everything else right now.
I don’t reach for my phone right away. Instead, I let the fear surface fully. I’m scared she’ll realize she deserves more, and I’ll never be able to give her that, that if we try again and it fails again, I won’t know how to hold her without breaking myself. And beneath all that, I’m scared I don’t know who I am if I’m not protecting someone.
I go to the gym instead of the bar. That’s new. The heavy bag swings when I hit it. Each punch lands with a dull thud. I’m scared.Thud.I miss you.Thud.I don’t know how to be enough without breakin’ myself.Thud.
Sweat runs down my spine. My knuckles burn. I don’t stop until my shoulders shake. When I finally sink to the floor, back against the wall, chest heaving, I don’t feel lighter but clearer. The pain’s still there. But it’s mine now. Not something I’m trying to outrun.
