26. Ben #2
“Glad that’s settled. Then maybe we can start figuring out a plan. Nothing crazy. Just… talk about options,” he says.
Options. The word lands wrong again. I wrap my arms around my stomach, a habit I’ve picked up without realizing it. Protective. Instinctive.
“Ben. Can we not do this right now?”
He pauses. “Do what?”
“All of it.” I gesture vaguely. “The planning. The fixing.”
His brow furrows, like he’s confused but not defensive. “I thought it might help you feel better.”
“I know.”
That’s the thing. I do know. He’s not trying to control me. He’s not panicking. He’s just… showing up. Fully. Earnestly. Like he always does. He knows I like plans.
But I can’t let him do this anymore.
“I’ve been thinking,” I continue, choosing my words carefully. “About us.”
Something shifts in his posture. He straightens slightly, his attention sharpening.
“Okay,” he says.
“I think we need to slow down.”
The silence that follows is immediate and heavy.
“Slow down?” he repeats.
“Yes.” I rush the words. “Just… take a step back. Create some space.”
His mouth opens, then closes. “What?”
“I rushed into this. We both did. And I don’t want you making choices out of obligation.”
“I’m not,” he says, a little firmer now.
“I know you think that. But you’re entering the draft next year, Ben. Your life is about to change. You shouldn’t be rearranging everything because of me.”
His eyes darken. “I’m not rearranging my life. I’m including you in it.”
The words almost break me.
Almost.
“I don’t want to be the reason you compromise. Or miss out. Or feel stuck.”
“I don’t feel stuck,” he says. “I feel—”
“Please,” I interrupt quietly.
That stops him.
He looks at me for a long moment. Something moves across his face—not anger, not hurt yet, just a searching patience, like he’s trying to find the real sentence underneath the one I just said.
I step closer, lowering my voice. “I need to do this on my own.”
The sentence hangs between us, sharp and final. He stares at me like I’ve just spoken a language he doesn’t understand.
“On your own,” he repeats.
“Yes.”
“What does that even mean?” he asks. “Because I don’t want you to be on your own. I want to do this with you.”
I swallow. “I don’t think you should.”
The hurt flashes across his face before he can stop it. Quick. Raw. Gone just as fast.
“Katy,” he says slowly, “what is this really about? Because a week ago you were fine, and now you’re—” He stops, running a hand through his hair. “Talk to me. Tell me what actually happened.”
And for one terrible second, I almost do.
I almost say I’m scared you’ll resent me. I’m scared the baby won’t be yours and you’ll stay anyway out of stubbornness and one day you’ll look at me the way my parents look at me, like I’m a problem they regret. I’m scared I’m already too in love with you to survive that.
“You’re making a decision for both of us. Why can’t you trust me to decide for myself?”
“I’m sorry.”
He goes quiet.
When he speaks again, his voice is softer. “Is this about the baby?”
“Yes. And no.” I take a breath. “It’s about you. About what you deserve.”
He shakes his head slowly. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve.”
“I do if it protects you.”
His voice tightens. “You’re not protecting me. You’re hurting me.”
He drags a hand through his hair, looking more exhausted than angry.
“I can’t keep proving myself if you’ve already decided I’m going to fail.”
I close my eyes.
Another pause.
“So, what,” he asks, “you’re just… breaking up with me?”
“Yes.”
The word hurts coming out of my mouth.
He looks at me for a long moment like he’s waiting for me to flinch, to take it back, to give him something to work with. I don’t.
“Katy.” His voice drops, quieter now, and somehow that’s worse than when he was pushing back. “Look at me.”
I do. I wish I hadn’t.
Because he doesn’t look angry. He looks like someone who already knows how this ends and is asking me, one last time, to choose differently.
“I love you. I love the kitten. And I want to be here.” He pauses. “Does that sound like someone who feels trapped?”
My chin trembles. “No.”
“Then why—”
“Because you’re good,” I say, and my voice breaks on it. “You’re so good, Ben, and you’ll stay no matter what, and I can’t watch you give everything up and then spend the rest of your life pretending you don’t regret it.”
Silence.
He stares at me.
“So,” he says finally, “you’re ending this because I’m too good to you. It sounds like an excuse to me, Katy Cat.”
When he says it like that it sounds insane. It is insane. I know it’s insane.
“I’m ending this,” I manage, “because I love you too much to be selfish.”
Something crosses his face that I can’t name. It’s there and then it’s gone.
“Okay,” he says finally.
The word guts me.
“I don’t agree,” he adds. “But I hear you. I respect your choice.”
He steps back, giving me space like I asked for. Like a decent man. Like someone who respects boundaries even when they’re killing him.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He holds my gaze. “But I won’t push.”
That hits me straight in the heart.
He grabs his jacket, pauses at the door, then turns back. “I wasn’t doing any of this because I felt obligated.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“I was doing it because I wanted to choose you. And I was hoping you’d choose me. But I can’t be the only one who fights for this.”
Then he’s gone. I lock the door behind him and slide down against it, my composure finally cracking.
I don’t know how I’ll ever smile again without him.