Page 5 of The Ache That Stayed

The way he looked at me now might change.

And worse of all, he might stop loving me enough to stay.

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “Because you don’t have to do it alone. You love your work,” he said. “Don’t let us hold you back.”

I leaned into him then, forehead against his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around me and held me until my weight settled fully, until his breathing matched mine. The silence between us felt peaceful.

“I didn’t mean to wake you last night,” I said, fixing my gaze on the horizon.

“You didn’t wake me,” he replied. “I’ll always reach for you. And when you fall, I’ll be there—every time. Even when you disappear, I’ll be reaching.”

He kissed me, slow, deep, letting his tongue brush against mine. He tasted of mint and smoke.

“You’re mine,” he murmured once, brushing his thumb across my jaw.

“Your fears are mine. Your burdens are mine. You don’t carry them alone.”

“I love you,” I murmured.

The words were true, but something inside me still tightened.

I loved him. God, I did. But I’ve always wondered, would he love me the same if he knew what I’ve hidden away?

Would he still be here if he saw all of me?

The shadows.

The rage.

The parts of me I’d buried just to survive.

Packing for Ireland felt strangely unreal. Like I was preparing for someone else’s life. The suitcase lay open on the bed while I folded clothes with careful precision. Neat lines. Order. Control.

Marcello watched from the doorway.

“Done packing?”

I nodded.

“Ritu will be happy you’re coming.”

“I know.”

The truth was simpler. Work was easier than thinking. It didn’t ask questions or dig through memories I’d buried.

Julian would have said avoidance was a coping mechanism.

I called it survival.

Marcello stepped closer. His hands settled on my waist.

“You’ll be fine,” he murmured.

“I know.”

“You’ll call if you need anything.”