Chapter 6 #2
“I think when I met you, I thought—this is it. This is what I’ve been searching for.
You were stable. You were soft.” My throat tightened, but I kept going.
“After the way I grew up, I thought what I needed was the opposite of all of that. If I could find a love that was calm, something unshakable, it would fix the rest. It would fix me.”
His eyes dropped, but he didn’t pull away.
“It worked for a while. I told myself it was enough and that I could be that version of Luna who stayed.” I looked up at him then, really looked at him.
“That’s not who I am. I’ve been trying to live inside this version of life that looks good on paper, but every day I’ve felt myself getting smaller, quieter, pretending that it was okay. ”
Will’s eyes flickered, the sting hitting before he could look away.
“I thought I could want this forever, but it turns out I was just trying to make myself believe I did. I can’t do that anymore.
I can’t keep living a life that looks right if it doesn’t feel right.
It’s not fair to me or you.” I squeezed his hands.
“You were good to me. You gave me peace when I needed it. I’d be lying to you—and to myself—if I stayed.
I’ve spent too much of my life surviving in silence.
I won’t do it again solely because it’s easier. ”
He opened his mouth like he wanted to fight and argue, but then he stopped. Because he knew.
“Please just . . . tell me. Is there someone else?”
I looked at him, and for a second, I thought about lying. About telling him no and leaving it clean, but I’d done enough pretending.
“I didn’t cheat on you,” I said gently.
That was true. Technically. But the truth always lived in the cracks.
“My ex contacted me, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t stir something in me. Not only memories, but . . . the version of me that existed before I started folding myself up to fit this life.”
Will looked away, jaw clenched.
“I know how it sounds. I know what it looks like. I’m not proud of it, but I have to go back to the States.”
My heart pounded, shame curling low in my stomach like smoke.
I know this makes me a horrible person. I know it does. Leaving this way. Letting something old—something unfinished—pull me back across the ocean. After everything you’ve given me.
“I have to leave,” I whispered. “Not just because of him. Because of me. Because staying would be a slow death, and I’ve already lived too much of my life in survival mode.”
Will sat back, pain evident on his face, but he didn’t stop me. It was the most heartbreaking part because he knew I was already gone. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he looked up at me with more heartbreak than anger.
“I love you so much,” he said, voice hoarse. “But go.”
My breath caught.
“I want to see you happy. I don’t want you to curl into anything smaller than who you are, especially not for me.”
That was it. The kindest cut I’d ever felt.
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. Hating this. Hating being the villain in someone else’s story. Hating how selfish it all felt when I’d spent my entire life trying to be anything but.
I wanted to take it all back, the words, the honesty, the clarity. I wanted to rewind the whole damn conversation and just say Shit, I’m sorry, and mean it enough that it would glue us back together.
But I couldn’t because the truth was I was about to explode my entire world for a man.
Fuck, I hated that, too.
Will stood slowly, swiping at the tears on his cheeks. He didn’t step closer, but he looked at me with his red-rimmed eyes. “Take care of yourself, Luna,” he said. “Promise me that much.”
I nodded, my voice caught somewhere between my throat and heart. “I will,” I croaked.
We stood there for another second, frozen in the soft, unbearable silence of goodbye. No screaming. No slammed doors. It was only the quiet end of something we both tried to hold together for too long.
I turned and walked to the door.
The sky above London was gray. It always was, but today it was fitting.
God, what did I just do?
The thought hit like a punch as I stepped onto the sidewalk. My hands were trembling.
You just walked away from a good man. From a quiet life. From peace.
Because you’ve spent your whole damn life giving parts of yourself away.
I gave to Nova, uprooted my entire life to follow her to London. I gave to the online yoga community, free content, daily check-ins, showing up with a smile even on days I could barely breathe. I gave to my clients. To strangers. To every person who needed me.
Will? I gave him a version of me I thought might finally be “enough.” I gave and gave until there was barely anything left to call mine.
For once—for once—I chose myself.
I hated how selfish that sounded. How it made my chest cave with guilt, but I couldn’t do it anymore. Maybe it made me the villain in his story. Maybe it made me selfish. Or broken. Or all of the above.
As I turned the corner, tears prickling hot in my eyes, I whispered it aloud—for me.
“I’m allowed to choose myself.”