Ella had been nervous all dayโso much so that it settled into her bones, a quiet, relentless tremor she couldnโt shake. Every small task felt heavier, every passing minute louder than it should have been. She had made sure Dandelion wouldnโt be home; she couldnโt bear the thought of her daughter witnessing this, of those bright, innocent eyes trying to make sense of something Ella herself barely understood.
She had rehearsed the words over and over again, whispering them under her breath, reshaping them, softening them, hardening themโanything to make them hurt less. But now, standing there in the stillness of the room, staring at the wall as though it might answer for her, she realized there was no version of this that wouldnโt break something.
Still, she couldnโt turn back. Not now. Not after all the nights spent lying awake beside silence, pretending it was comfort.
When Sally arrived, Ella felt her chest tighten so suddenly it almost stole her breath. For a moment, she considered pretendingโjust for one more day, one more eveningโbut the weight of everything unsaid pressed too hard against her ribs.
She forced a small, fragile smile and gestured for Sally to come in. Her hands trembled, so she clasped them together, holding on to herself as if she might fall apart otherwise.
She had done this before.
The memory flickered through her mind like a wound that had never quite healedโdifferent person, same hollow ache. The same moment where love turned into something unrecognizable. The same realization that trying harder wouldnโt fix what was never truly there.
And now here she was again.
โSallyโฆโ Her voice faltered, softer than she intended. She swallowed, blinking rapidly as tears threatened to spill. โYou know I love you.โ
The words hung between them, fragile and heavy all at once.
โBut we canโt keep doing thisโwhatever this is,โ she continued, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. โYouโre more absent than you are here. And when you are hereโฆโ She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. โNothing changes. Itโs like Iโm waiting for something that never comes.โ
She drew in a shaky breath, pressing her lips together before continuing.
โI told myself you just needed time. That if I was patient enough, if I loved you quietly and didnโt ask for too much, things would grow. I thoughtโฆ maybe one day youโd look at me and feel it too.โ
A tear slipped free, and she quickly wiped it away, though more followed.
โBut I canโt keep pretending anymore,โ she whispered. โI canโt keep living in something that feels soโฆ empty.โ
Her voice cracked then, the composure she had clung to finally slipping.
โI need more than this, Sally. I need warmth. I need closeness. I need to feel wanted.โ She shook her head faintly, a broken, disbelieving sound escaping her. โWeโve been together for almost two yearsโฆ and youโve never even kissed me.โ
The words seemed to echo in the silence that followed.
โI kept telling myself it didnโt matter. That love doesnโt have to look a certain way. But it doesโat least for me. And Iโve been starving for it.โ
She finally looked up, meeting Sallyโs eyes, her own filled with a mixture of sorrow, exhaustion, and quiet resolve.
โI donโt think weโre meant to be more than friends,โ she said softly. โAnd Iโm so, so sorry for realizing that this lateโฆ for hurting you like this.โ
Her voice dropped to almost nothing.
โBut I think Iโve been hurting for a long time too.โ
The room fell into a heavy stillness, the kind that comes after something irreversible has been said.
And in that silence, a painful truth settled fully into Ellaโs heart.
Sally wasnโt her great love.
Maybe she had never been.
And as much as it frightened her to admit it, Ella could feel something colder, lonelier creeping in at the edges of her thoughtsโthe growing belief that perhaps a love like that, the kind people spoke about in soft voices and happy endings, simply wasnโt meant for her at all.
