✧･Chapter 21 Its Her, Isnt It?
I don't remember grabbing my keys or locking the door behind me. One second I'm standing in Helena's kitchen, my chest tight and my thoughts too loud, and the next I'm in my car, my hands already on the wheel like they know where I'm going before I fully let myself accept it.
The engine starts, and I just sit there for a moment, staring out at nothing.
I don't want to do this. Not because I don't know what I need to do, but because I do. Because I know exactly what this means.
Chris doesn't deserve this.
The realization hits sharper the closer I get to pulling out of the driveway. He's been good to me... steady, patient, and safe in a way that never asked too much from me. He loves me in a way that's easy to hold, easy to exist inside of without questioning it too hard.
And I'm about to walk into his house and tear that apart.
My grip tightens on the wheel as I finally pull out, my chest tightening with it. Everything is going to change after this and there's no version of this where it doesn't.
No clean way out. No way to soften it enough to make it hurt less. Not for him. Not for me.
I swallow hard, my eyes fixed on the road, but my mind is already spiraling ahead of me.
What am I even supposed to say?
'Hey, I cheated on you.' 'Hey, I think I'm in love with someone else.' 'Hey, I've been lying to both of us without even realizing it until now.'
A shaky breath leaves me, my fingers pressing harder into the wheel. I'm not ready for this.
I'm not prepared to see his face when it hits him. I'm not prepared for the silence after, or the questions, or the moment he realizes I'm not going to take it back.
I'm not prepared to be the person who does this to him.
For a second, I consider turning around and the thought comes quickly. I could go home. I could sit with this longer. I could figure out how to say it better, how to make it make more sense, how to make it hurt less.
But the second that thought starts to form, something else cuts through it just as fast.
Claire.
It's not even intentional. It just... happens.
Her face. The way she looks at me.
The way her eyes soften in that almost imperceptible way, like she's trying not to give too much away but never quite succeeding when it comes to me.
The way her mouth curves - not a full smile at first, just the hint of one, like she's holding it back, like it's something private before it finally breaks through.
And when it does...
God.
It's not just a smile. It's warmth. It's something that reaches me before I even have time to brace for it, settling somewhere deep in my chest and spreading out in a way that feels unfamiliar and overwhelming all at once.
I exhale slowly, my chest tightening again, but not the same way as before.
Her voice slips in next.
Low, steady, always just a little softer when she says my name. Like it matters. There's something in it that lingers, something that makes everything else around me fade just enough that I notice it every time.
I can hear it so clearly it almost feels like she's sitting next to me. I can feel her, too.
The memory of her hands. Warm and sure, like she knows exactly where she's touching me and what it's doing to me. The way my breath catches without warning, the way my chest tightens like my body doesn't quite know what to do with the feeling except hold onto it.
It's overwhelming in the best, worst way.
My heart picks up just thinking about it, a steady, undeniable rhythm that feels completely out of my control.
And that's the thing. Nothing about Claire feels controlled. Nothing about her feels safe in the way Chris does.
But it feels right.
Terrifyingly right.
Like everything in me is waking up all at once, like something I didn't even realize was missing suddenly snapped into place the second she came back.
Before her, everything felt fine, that's the only word for it. Fine, predictable, manageable. Like living in muted colors and not realizing it until someone turns the saturation all the way up and suddenly everything is too bright, too sharp, too real to ignore.
That's what she did. That's what she does.
She makes everything feel louder. Clearer, like I'm actually inside my own life instead of just moving through it.
And I can't un-feel that. I can't go back to not knowing what that feels like.
My chest tightens again, but this time it's different. Not panic, or confusion.
Just, clarity. Painful, unavoidable clarity. Because no matter how much I don't want to hurt Chris, no matter how much I wish there was a way to fix this without breaking everything...
There isn't. Not if I'm being honest. Not if I'm not lying to him, or to myself.
By the time I turn onto his street, my hands have steadied on the wheel, even if everything else still feels like it's shifting underneath me.
His house comes into view, familiar in a way that makes something twist deep in my chest.
I've been here so many times. Walked up those steps without thinking. Let myself in like it was second nature. Sat on that couch, laughed in that kitchen, built something here that was supposed to last.
And now I'm here to end it.
I pull into the driveway slowly, the engine humming for a second before I shut it off. The silence that follows settles heavy around me, pressing in from all sides.
For a moment, I just sit here, staring. Trying to gather something - courage, maybe, or just enough strength to move.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, though he can't hear it yet.
Maybe I'm saying it to him, or maybe I'm saying it to myself. My hand lingers on the door handle for a second before I finally push it open, stepping out into the quiet.
Each step up to the house feels heavier than the last, like I'm fully aware now of what I'm carrying with me.
What I'm about to do, what I can't undo. I reach the door, my hand hovering just briefly before I knock, and at the sound of it, it feels like the point of no return.
The door opens quicker than I expect, like he was already nearby, and for a second I almost forget how to breathe. Chris stands there, brows pulling together in immediate confusion, like my presence doesn't fit into whatever plans he had going on today.
"Mae?" He says, a little thrown off, glancing past me for half a second before his focus snaps back. "Hey... I didn't know you were coming over."
I try to say something, but nothing comes out right away. My throat feels tight, my chest worse, like everything I had lined up in my head dissolved the second he opened the door.
He shifts, stepping back automatically, holding the door open wider. "Come in," he says, softer now, still studying my face like he's trying to piece something together. "I've been trying to reach you all day. Since yesterday, actually."
That lands heavier than it should, and guilt presses in, sharp and immediate, and I have to look away from him as I step inside.
"I know," I manage, my voice is quieter than I mean for it to be. "I just- I needed..."
I don't even know how to finish that.
The door closes behind me with a soft click that feels too final, and suddenly I'm standing in his house again, except everything about it feels different now. The same couch, the same walls, the same familiar space, but it doesn't settle around me the way it used to.
Chris turns toward me, concern etched clearly across his face now. "Are you okay?" he asks, stepping closer. "You look..."
He doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't have to. I know how I look, I feel like I'm barely holding myself together.
"I'm fine," I say automatically, too quickly, and it sounds wrong the second it leaves my mouth.
His expression shifts slightly at that, like he doesn't believe me, but he doesn't push it. Instead, he closes the small distance between us, reaching for me like he always does, like this is normal.
Like we're still normal.
"Hey," he murmurs, his voice softening, his hand coming up toward my arm, grounding and gentle. "You disappeared on me. I was starting to think you were avoiding me or something."
My chest tightens at that. Before I can respond, he leans in, the movement natural and instinctive, like he's done it a hundred times before, like he expects me to meet him halfway.
And for a split second, my body almost does like muscle memory, out of habit.
But then... Claire flashes through my mind. The way her breath felt against my skin. The way my heart had raced instead of settled. The way everything in me had lit up instead of softened into something familiar and quiet.
And suddenly, I can't. At the last second, I pull back. It's not dramatic, not sharp - but it's enough.
Enough that he notices. Enough that everything shifts.
"Wait." The word comes out quickly, under my breath, almost like I'm trying to catch it before it fully exists. I shake my head slightly, my hand coming up between us like I need the space. "I... Chris, I can't-"
He freezes, confusion flickering across his face, something else following close behind it. Hurt, maybe, or just uncertainty.
"Mae?" He says, slower now, searching my face. "What's going on?"
My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it's in my throat, my chest tight, my thoughts trying to scatter again, but I force them back, force myself to stay here, in this moment.
This is why I came, and I swallow hard, my voice coming out quieter this time, but steadier.
"We need to talk."
Chris doesn't move at first. He just stands there in the doorway like he's waiting for me to take it back, to laugh a little and tell him I'm being dramatic, that whatever this is, it isn't what it feels like.
But I don't. I step inside anyway, and the house closes in behind me with a soft click of the door that feels louder than it should.
"Come in," he says finally, slower now, like he's trying to settle the moment into something manageable. "Sit down. Do you want anything? Water?"
"I'm fine," I cut in gently, maybe too quickly and that makes him pause for half a beat longer than normal.
Still, he nods and sits first, like he's giving me space to decide how this goes. His posture isn't defensive yet. It's open and waiting, and that makes it harder. Because he doesn't know.
Not yet.
I sit across from him, but it already feels wrong. Like there's too much distance between what I'm about to say and the version of us that used to exist in this exact room.
Chris studies my face for a moment. "You've been off," he says quietly. "Since yesterday. I tried calling you, texting you, but you didn't answer."
"I know," I say, my voice softer than I intend. "I just... I didn't know what to say."
That makes his expression shift slightly. "Okay," he says carefully. "So tell me now."
I inhale, but it doesn't settle anything. My chest still feels tight, like I've been holding this breath since I got in the car.
"I don't think this is working anymore," I say.
The words land in the space between us and just sit there. Chris blinks once, then again. Not reacting immediately, like his brain is trying to translate it into something less absolute.
"What do you mean?" He asks finally.
I look down at my hands. "I mean... us," I say quietly. "This isn't working, and it's not you. I promise you that."
That's when I finally look back up at him, and I see it. The shift. It's subtle at first - just confusion tightening into something more focused. Like he's starting to connect pieces he didn't want to look at too closely before.
"Mae..." he says slowly, "where is this coming from?"
"I don't know how else to say it," I admit, my voice catching slightly. "I've been trying to figure it out for a while now, and I just... I can't keep pretending everything is fine when it's not."
Chris leans forward a little now, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on mine. "That's not an answer," he says, quieter. Not angry yet, just searching. "Something happened."
I hesitate, just for a second too long, and that's all it takes.
His eyes narrow slightly, not angry, but focused now, like he's stepping closer to a truth he doesn't want to see yet.
"It's not just that things changed, isn't it?" He says quietly.
I don't answer, because I can't. He watches me for another beat, something tightening in his expression as he starts to piece it together out loud, like he needs to hear it to believe it.
"It's her," he says.
My stomach drops and I don't respond fast enough.
And then his voice gets quieter.
"Isn't it?"
Silence, for too long, and way too heavy. And in that silence, Chris already knows.
I feel it the moment my throat tightens - like my body is betraying me before I even get the words out. My eyes sting immediately, hot and sharp, and I turn my head slightly, like that will somehow make it less real, less visible, less happening.
Chris lets out a small sound under his breath. Not quite a laugh, not quite anything I can name. Something disbelieving, like his brain is still trying to reject what his eyes are already seeing.
"What happened?" He asks again, but it's different now, less confused and more grounded. More certain there's a truth sitting between us that I'm not saying out loud.
I shake my head quickly, like I can physically stop this from going further. "Chris-"
"No," he cuts in, and his voice is firmer now. Not loud, but steady in a way that makes my chest tighten. "No, something happened. You don't walk in here like this unless something happened. So just... tell me."
My breath catches. I try to steady it, but it breaks halfway through anyway. I wipe at my cheek quickly, frustrated with myself more than anything, but it doesn't help. It's already there.
"I didn't mean for it to-" I start, and even I hear how useless that sounds the second it leaves my mouth.
Chris exhales sharply, shaking his head once like he's trying to reset something in himself. Then he looks at me again, and there's a change in his expression. Hurt settling into something heavier, something quieter.
"You know what?" He says, voice lower now. "No. I actually don't want to know."
That stops me and I blink at him, my throat tightening further. "Chris..."
He closes his eyes for a second, like he needs to gather himself just to say the next part. When he opens them again, they're glassy, but controlled.
"I can see it," he says quietly. "I can see it all over your face."
Silence drops between us again, thicker than before. He looks away from me for a second, jaw tightening, then back again like he can't quite decide where to put his emotions.
"And the worst part," he adds, softer now, almost like he hates that he's saying it out loud, "is that I think I've known for a while. I just didn't want to admit it."
My breath catches hard, because that lands differently.
He swallows, and for a moment his composure slips just slightly at the edges. "Is that it? Her?" He asks again, but this time it's not really a question.
It's confirmation he doesn't want and my silence answers him before I do.
Chris nods once, slow and barely there, like something inside him has finally clicked into place and he doesn't like what it looks like.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "Okay."
He leans back slightly, staring past me now instead of at me, like looking directly at me is too much.
"I kept thinking I was doing something wrong," he says after a moment, voice rougher now. "I kept thinking if I just fixed it, if I just tried harder, you'd come back to me."
That makes my chest ache in a way I can't push down. "Chris, I-" I try, but he shakes his head again.
"No," he says, quieter. "Don't."
A long silence stretches between us, and I realize I can't even breathe properly anymore without it shaking. Finally, he looks at me again, but not the same way as before.
Not searching, not hopeful, just... clear.
"So that's it," he says softly. "You're choosing her."
I flinch slightly at the wording.
"I didn't plan this," I whisper, because it feels like the only truth I can still hold onto without breaking completely.
Chris lets out a short breath through his nose, almost like he's trying not to react too hard to that.
"I know," he says again, and this time it's heavier.
A pause, then, quieter, almost to himself, "but it still happened."
And that's where the room finally goes still in a way neither of us can fix.