Emma walked home from the café with her hands deep in her coat pockets and the wind curling around her like a question. Her heart beat unevenly—not from excitement, but from the heaviness of what had just been said, and what hadn't.
She opened the apartment door to find Ethan reading on the couch, feet tucked beneath him, a blanket across his lap. He looked up and smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
He closed the book. "How was your day?"
Emma hesitated. She couldn't lie. Not anymore. "I met with Lily."
Ethan sat straighter, the smile disappearing. "Oh."
"It wasn't planned. But it was overdue."
He nodded slowly. "Did it help?"
Emma sat beside him, not too close. "In some ways, yes. But it also raised more questions. About us. About everything."
Ethan looked down at his hands. "I figured."
"I don't want to hurt you," she said.
"But you might," he replied, voice low. "And I'd rather hear the truth than live in something hollow."
Emma's throat tightened. "I'm not sure I can love you the way I used to. Not after all the doubt. Not while there's this… other piece of me that's waking up."
"You mean Lily."
She nodded.
Silence stretched between them like a canyon. Ethan stood, walked to the window, then turned back.
"You should figure out what you want. Really want. And I think you need to do that without me in the background."
Her chest constricted. "Are you saying we should break up?"
"I'm saying maybe… we need a pause. A breath. Before resentment eats everything we built."
Emma's eyes brimmed with tears. "I'm so sorry."
Ethan's expression softened, though his pain was obvious. "Me too."
That night, Emma packed a bag and left the apartment. The city air felt colder than usual, sharper, but it was honest. And for the first time in a long while, so was she.