Updated Feb 14, 2026 • ~12 min read
[ASPEN POV – Eleven Months After Wedding]
Bailey found me crying in her guest room. Again. Third time this week. Tenth time this month. Hundredth time since I’d left Marius.
But this time—this time she wasn’t gentle. Wasn’t sympathetic. Was—
Was furious.
“Get up,” she said.
“What?”
“Get. Up. We’re talking. Now. And you’re actually going to listen for once instead of drowning in self-pity and calling it noble sacrifice.”
She pulled me to living room. Sat me down. Stood over me like—like prosecutor. Like judge. Like—
Like friend who’d had enough.
“I’m done,” Bailey said. “I’m done watching you destroy yourself. Done listening to you justify leaving him. Done—done enabling this martyrdom performance. It ends now.”
“Bailey—”
“No. You don’t get to talk. You get to listen. For once. Really listen.” She paced. Angry. Raw. Real. “You didn’t leave Marius because you were cage. You didn’t leave because you were destroying him. You didn’t leave because of love or mercy or—or any of the noble bullshit you keep telling yourself.”
“Then why did I leave?”
“Because you’re terrified. Because being loved scares you more than being alone. Because—because you’ve convinced yourself you don’t deserve happiness. That you’re not worth staying for. That anyone who loves you is making mistake they’ll eventually realize. So you leave first. You destroy it before it can be taken. You—you punish yourself for having the audacity to be happy.”
The words hit like slaps. True slaps. Undeniable slaps.
“You’ve spent your whole life losing people,” Bailey continued. “Your dad died. Your mom forgot you. You lost jobs, lost stability, lost—everything. Over and over. Until losing became normal. Expected. Safe even. Because if you expect loss, it can’t surprise you. Can’t—hurt you. Or so you think.”
“That’s not—”
“It is. And then Marius happened. Marius who chose you. Stayed. Fought for you. Loved you despite everything. Despite scandal and poverty and—everything terrible. He stayed. And that terrified you. Because people don’t stay. In your experience. People leave. Or die. Or forget. But Marius didn’t. He stayed. And you couldn’t handle it.”
I was crying now. But Bailey didn’t stop. Didn’t soften.
“So you created test. Impossible test. You became ‘cage.’ You saw yourself as burden. You—you invented reasons why he’d be better off without you. Not because they were true. But because they justified leaving. Justified running before you could be left. Justified—protecting yourself by destroying the one good thing in your life.”
“He was fading—”
“He was adapting. Learning. Growing. That’s not fading. That’s—change. Normal change. Uncomfortable change. But change nonetheless. And instead of helping him through it, instead of growing together—you decided he’d be better off without you. You decided you were problem. You decided—you decided to leave.”
“I was trying to help him—”
“You were trying to help yourself. To protect yourself. To—to avoid the terrifying possibility that someone might actually love you. Might actually stay. Might actually—choose you. Forever. That scared you so much you destroyed it. You walked away. You broke both your hearts because being heartbroken felt safer than being loved.”
“That’s not fair—”
“It’s completely fair. And you know it. Deep down you know it. That’s why you’re crying. That’s why you’re miserable. Not because you saved him. But because you destroyed something real. Something beautiful. Something—worth fighting for. And you’re too proud or too scared or too—too convinced you’re not worth loving to admit you made mistake.”
“I did make mistake,” I whispered. “I know I did. But it’s too late. I can’t—I can’t take it back. Can’t undo it. Can’t—”
“Can’t what? Apologize? Ask for second chance? Tell him you were wrong? Why not? What’s stopping you?”
“Pride. Fear. Knowledge that I don’t—I don’t deserve second chance. That I hurt him too badly. That he’s—he’s better off without me. That I’ll just do this again. Run again. Destroy again. Because I don’t know how to be loved. Don’t know how to—stay. I only know how to survive. And survival means leaving before being left.”
“No,” Bailey said fiercely. “Survival means staying. Means fighting. Means choosing happiness even when it’s scary. Even when you don’t think you deserve it. Even when—when every instinct screams run. That’s survival. Real survival. Not—not this coward bullshit where you run from the one person who actually loves you.”
“I’m not a coward—”
“You are. About this. You’re brave about everything else. You crashed a wedding. You fought lawsuits. You stood up to billionaires. You—you survived impossible things. But being loved? Being happy? That terrifies you. That makes you coward. And I’m done watching you be coward about this.”
I was sobbing now. Full sobs. Everything breaking. Everything—
Everything true.
She was right. About everything. I was—
I was terrified of being loved. More terrified of that than scandal or poverty or—or anything. Because being loved meant being vulnerable. Meant being—worth something. Worth staying for. Worth—
Worth everything I didn’t believe I was.
“I don’t know how to be loved,” I said through tears. “I don’t—I don’t know how. Everyone who loves me leaves. Leaves or dies or forgets. How do I believe Marius is different? How do I trust he’ll stay? How do I—how do I open myself to being destroyed when he realizes I’m not worth it? When he leaves like—like everyone leaves?”
Bailey sat beside me. Pulled me close. Gentle now. Finally.
“You can’t guarantee he’ll stay,” she said softly. “You can’t—control that. But Aspen, you also can’t control whether he leaves by leaving first. You’re not protecting yourself. You’re just—destroying yourself preemptively. And him. You’re destroying both of you because you’re afraid.”
“So what do I do?”
“You choose to be brave. You choose to believe you’re worth staying for. You choose to—to trust that being loved isn’t disaster waiting to happen. You choose him. You choose happiness. You choose—you.”
“What if I can’t? What if I’m too broken? Too—damaged? Too used to losing to believe in keeping?”
“Then you try anyway. You be brave anyway. You—you let yourself be loved anyway. Because Aspen, here’s the truth: You’re allowed to be loved. You’re allowed to be happy. You’re allowed to—to have good things. To keep good things. To be—worth staying for. You’re allowed all of that. Stop punishing yourself for having the audacity to want it. To have it. To—to deserve it.”
“I deserve it?”
“Yes. You do. Absolutely. Completely. You deserve love and happiness and—and Marius. You deserve all of it. Not because you earned it or suffered enough or—or paid some debt to universe. But because you’re human. You’re alive. You’re—you. And that’s enough. You being you is enough. You don’t have to be perfect or undamaged or—or fearless to deserve love. You just have to be—willing. To try. To stay. To believe you’re worth it.”
The words broke something. Or fixed something. The wall I’d built. The protection. The—
The cage I’d put myself in.
“I’m allowed to be loved,” I repeated. Testing words. Believing words. Maybe.
“Yes. You are. Absolutely.”
“I’m allowed to be happy.”
“Yes.”
“I’m allowed to—to have Marius. To keep him. To—to believe he’ll stay.”
“Yes. God, yes. You’re allowed all of that. You’ve always been allowed. You just—you didn’t believe it. Didn’t let yourself. But Aspen, it’s not too late. He still loves you. Rhys says he’s miserable. Says he’d take you back in heartbeat if you’d just—just go to him. Apologize. Tell him you were wrong. That you were scared. That you—that you want to try again. To be brave. To choose love over fear.”
“What if he won’t forgive me?”
“Then at least you tried. At least you were brave. At least you—you fought for something instead of running from it. But I don’t think he’ll reject you. I think—I think he’s been waiting. Hoping. For you to realize. To come back. To—to choose him. The way he’s been choosing you. All along.”
I stood. Shaking. Terrified. But—
But decided.
“I’m going to him.”
“Now?”
“Now. Before I lose courage. Before fear wins. Before—before I talk myself out of it. I’m going now.”
“Good. Go. Be brave. Choose happiness. Choose—love. You deserve it.”
I drove to Marius’s new apartment. Tiny studio. Address Rhys had mentioned. My hands shaking on steering wheel.
I was doing this. I was—
I was choosing. Bravely. Terrifyingly. But—choosing.
At his door, I almost ran. Almost—retreated. Protected myself. But—
But Bailey’s words: You’re allowed to be loved.
I knocked.
He answered. Looked terrible. Gaunt. Exhausted. Destroyed. Like I felt. Like—
Like someone surviving instead of living.
“Aspen?” he said. Shocked. Confused. Guarded.
“I made mistake,” I said immediately. “Terrible mistake. I—I left you because I was afraid. Not because you were fading or I was cage. But because being loved terrified me. Because I didn’t believe I deserved happiness. Because—because leaving felt safer than staying. Than trusting you’d choose me. Permanently. So I left first. I destroyed us because I was coward. Because I was—scared. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I hurt you. I hurt us. I—I was wrong. About everything.”
He stared at me. Processing. Deciding.
“I don’t know how to be loved,” I continued. Crying now. “I don’t know how to trust people will stay. Everyone leaves. Everyone I love—leaves or dies or forgets. And you didn’t. You stayed. You chose me. And that terrified me more than anything. So I ran. I left you before you could leave me. I—I destroyed us before time could. Before reality could. Before—before you could realize I wasn’t worth it.”
“Aspen—”
“Let me finish. Please.” I took breath. “But I was wrong. You weren’t fading. You were growing. We weren’t failing. We were—adjusting. Learning each other. Figuring it out. And instead of staying, instead of fighting—I ran. I let fear win. I—I destroyed the best thing in my life because I was too afraid to believe I deserved it. Deserved you. Deserved—happiness.”
“Do you believe that now?” he asked quietly. “That you deserve it?”
“I’m trying to. I’m—I’m learning to believe it. To believe—I’m worth staying for. Worth loving. Worth—everything. Bailey told me—” My voice broke. “She told me I’m allowed to be loved. I’m allowed to be happy. I’m allowed to—to have you. If you’ll still have me. If you can forgive me for—for being coward. For running. For—for almost destroying us permanently.”
Silence. Long silence. Him deciding. Weighing. Choosing.
“I’ve missed you,” he said finally. “Every day. Every moment. I’ve missed you so much it physically hurt. I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t—create. Couldn’t do anything except—exist. Barely. Without you. These two months have been—hell. Complete hell.”
“I know. Me too. I’m so sorry—”
“But,” he continued. “I need to know: If we do this again. If we try again. Will you run? Next time something’s hard? Next time you’re scared? Will you leave again?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I can’t promise I won’t be scared. Can’t promise fear won’t win sometimes. But—but I promise to try. To fight it. To stay even when leaving feels safer. To—to choose you. Choose us. Choose being brave instead of being safe. I can’t promise perfect. But I promise—trying. Is that enough?”
He thought about it. Long moment. Deciding our future. Our—
Our everything.
“Yes,” he said. “That’s enough. Trying is enough. Because I’m scared too. Scared you’ll leave again. Scared I’m not enough. Scared—everything. But I want to try. Want to choose you. Choose us. Choose—being brave together instead of safe apart. So yes. Let’s try. Let’s—let’s choose each other. Again. Still. Always.”
“Always?”
“Always. If you’ll have me. If you’ll stay. If you’ll—if you’ll be brave with me.”
“I’ll stay. I promise. I’ll—I’ll be brave. I’ll choose you. Every day. Even when it’s scary. Especially when it’s scary. I’ll—I choose you.”
“I choose you too. Not from obligation. Not from guilt. From—love. Real love. The kind that fights. The kind that stays. The kind that’s—worth everything. You’re worth everything. You always were. I’m sorry you didn’t believe it. But I’ll help you believe it. Every day. I’ll choose you. I’ll stay. I’ll—I’ll love you until you believe you’re worth loving.”
He pulled me inside. Held me. Both of us crying. Relief and joy and—
And love. Real love. Chosen love. The kind worth fighting for. Worth—being brave for.
“I love you,” I said. “I never stopped. Even when I left. Even when I was—coward. I loved you. Always loved you.”
“I love you too,” he said. “Never stopped. Never will. You’re—everything. You always were.”
We kissed. Desperate. Grateful. Relieved. Home. Finally. After two months. After—
After almost destroying everything.
We’d survived. Again. Not crisis this time. But—ourselves. Our fear. Our—
Our tendency to run instead of fight. To leave instead of stay. To—
To protect ourselves by destroying everything.
But we’d fought. We’d chosen. We’d—
We’d been brave.
Together.
Finally.
And we’d stay brave. Keep choosing. Keep—
Keep loving each other. Despite fear. Despite damage. Despite—
Despite everything that said we shouldn’t work.
We’d work anyway. We’d—
We’d choose to work. To try. To be—
To be partners. Really partners. Equals. People who fought for each other instead of running from each other. Who—
Who believed they were worth staying for.
Both of us.
Worth it.
Worth everything.
Worth—
Worth love.
Real love.
Chosen love.
Brave love.
The kind that survived fear. Survived—
Survived us.
Our damage. Our terror. Our—
Our tendency to destroy good things because we didn’t believe we deserved them.
But we did deserve them. Deserve each other. Deserve—
Deserve happiness.
Finally.
Completely.
Together.
Always together.
Whatever came next.
However hard it got.
However scared we were.
We’d choose each other.
We’d stay.
We’d—
We’d be brave.
Together.
That was enough.
That was—
That was everything.
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