Page 16 of Angel
“Feeling and truth aren’t the same thing.”
I press my forehead to her shoulder again.
“What if it never works?” I whisper.
She doesn’t rush to reassure me. Doesn’t promise miracles or tell me to just relax. She just holds me.
“And if it doesn’t,” she says carefully, “we’ll figure out how to live anyway.”
The words land like a punch. Living anyway. That means accepting that some things are out of my control. That I might not get the life I pictured, I might have to redefine what fulfilment looks like. And that terrifies me more than another negative test ever has. Because as long as I’m trying, I’m not grieving the possibility of never. Trying keeps the door cracked open. Stopping feels like closing it. And I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that yet.
Later that afternoon, my phone buzzes again.
Angel.
Please just tell me you’re safe.
My chest aches. I type back.
I’m safe. I just needed air.
The dots appear almost immediately.
Where are you? I’ll come get you.
I stare at the screen. Part of me wants to say yes. To let him fix it the way he fixes everything else, by showing up, by standing solid and unmovable. But another part of me knows this isn’t something he can fix for me.Not alone.
I need tonight.
I hesitate, then add.
I love you too.
I hit send before I can overthink it. My sister glances up from the couch.
“Him?”
I nod.
“You going back?”
“Not yet.”
She studies me for a moment.
“Do you want to?”
The question lingers. Do I want to go home? Yes.
Do I want to walk back into that house and face the look in his eyes? I don’t know.
“I don’t want to lose him,” I whisper.
“Then don’t.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It never is.”
