Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~12 min read
Chapter 16: The Separation Begins
POV: Carter Vaughn
Two weeks after Priya ends things completely—two weeks of respecting her boundaries, two weeks of no contact outside absolutely necessary PT sessions, two weeks of the most miserable existence Carter’s ever experienced including his parents’ divorce—and Carter’s starting to understand what people mean when they say heartbreak is physical, not just emotional, because his chest actually aches with missing her, with wanting her, with loving someone he can’t have.
The PT sessions are torture in ways Carter didn’t anticipate—he has to see Priya multiple times a week for treatment on his shoulder that’s still recovering from the strain weeks ago, has to let her touch him professionally while knowing he can’t touch her back, has to maintain casual conversation about injury recovery while his entire body screams with wanting more than clinical assessment and therapeutic touch.
She’s cold. Efficient. Professionally perfect in ways that hurt worse than anger would, worse than tears or accusations or any emotional response that might suggest she still cares—Priya treats Carter like he’s any other player, no warmth in her voice, no recognition of their history, nothing in her demeanor suggesting they were ever anything more than PT and team captain.
“Range of motion looks good,” Priya says during Thursday’s session, her hands on his shoulder testing mobility with the kind of detached competence that makes Carter want to scream. “You should be clear for full contact next week.”
“Thanks,” Carter manages, trying to keep his own voice neutral even though having her hands on him while knowing he’s lost her is destroying him incrementally. “It feels better.”
“Good. Ice it tonight if there’s any soreness.” She steps back, already reaching for paperwork, clearly done with him. “See you next week for final clearance.”
That’s it—professional assessment, injury update, dismissal—and Carter has to leave the PT office with his heart in his throat and his chest tight with longing, has to pretend this is fine when every cell in his body is screaming that it’s not fine, that he’s dying inside, that separation from Priya is worse than any physical injury he’s sustained on the ice.
He makes it to the hallway before he sees it—Priya laughing with Kevin, the other PT, her head thrown back with genuine amusement at something he said, her smile the one Carter used to earn and hasn’t seen in weeks, her entire demeanor warm and open in ways she’s not with Carter anymore.
Jealousy hits sharp and vicious—Carter wants to march back in there and interrupt, wants to make it clear that Priya’s his even though she’s explicitly not, wants to murder Kevin for making her laugh when Carter can’t even get her to look at him properly—and has to physically restrain himself from doing something stupid and possessive that would violate Priya’s boundaries and prove he hasn’t changed at all.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Jamie says quietly, appearing at Carter’s shoulder and clearly tracking his line of sight. “The murder face. It’s not a good look.”
“Shut up,” Carter says without heat, still watching Priya laugh with Kevin like it doesn’t hurt to witness.
“Fix this or let her go.” Jamie’s voice is firm, the kind of tough love that Carter needs even though he doesn’t want to hear it. “Stop torturing yourself with the in-between. Either fight for her or move on, but this—” he gestures toward Carter’s face, “—this miserable pining isn’t sustainable.”
“I don’t know how to fix it,” Carter admits, finally dragging his attention away from Priya to look at his friend. “I told her I love her. I’m in therapy. I’m doing the work. What else is there?”
“Tell her you love her, you idiot!” Jamie’s voice rises with exasperation. “You told her once in a parking lot when she was already done with you. That’s not the same as a real confession. As showing her you’ve changed. As proving you’re serious.”
“She said it was too late—”
“So prove it’s not!” Jamie interrupts. “Show her through actions that you’re not the same guy who panicked and pushed her away. Show her the work you’re doing in therapy. Show her you’re capable of change instead of just talking about it.”
Carter wants to argue, wants to insist that Priya won’t listen, that she’s made her choice and nothing he does will change her mind—but the truth is he hasn’t really tried, has he? Hasn’t shown her the work he’s doing with Dr. Chen, hasn’t demonstrated that therapy is actually helping, hasn’t done anything except respect her boundaries and suffer in silence while hoping she’ll somehow know he’s changed without him having to prove it.
“What if she doesn’t feel that way anymore?” The question comes out small, scared, exposing Carter’s real fear—not that Priya won’t give him another chance, but that she’s already moved on, that the love she felt has died under the weight of his rejection, that he’s too late not because she won’t forgive him but because she’s stopped caring enough to want to.
“What if she does and you never find out?” Jamie counters, the question hitting like a punch because that’s worse, isn’t it?—the possibility that Priya still loves him but Carter’s too scared to reach out, that they could have a second chance but he’s letting fear control him again, that he’s losing her not because she’s moved on but because he won’t fight for her.
Carter doesn’t have a response to that—just watches Jamie walk away and tries to process whether his friend is right, whether Carter’s been hiding behind respect for Priya’s boundaries when really he’s just being a coward again, whether proving he’s changed requires actually showing her instead of just doing the work privately and hoping she notices.
The rest of the day passes in a haze—Carter goes through practice mechanically, showers and changes without really registering his teammates, drives home in a fog of thoughts about Jamie’s words and whether he’s brave enough to try again despite the risk of another rejection.
His therapy session with Dr. Chen is that evening—they’ve been meeting twice a week for the last two weeks, working through Carter’s commitment issues and parental trauma and all the shit that’s been controlling his decisions for years—and when Carter arrives at her office, she can clearly tell something’s wrong from his expression alone.
“Rough day?” she asks as Carter drops into the chair across from her desk.
“Saw Priya laughing with another guy,” Carter admits. “Wanted to murder him. Jamie told me I need to either fix things or let her go. And I don’t know how to do either.”
Dr. Chen nods thoughtfully, making notes. “Let’s talk about that. Why don’t you know how to fix things?”
“Because I don’t know what she needs from me,” Carter says, frustrated. “I’ve told her I love her. I’m in therapy. I’m doing the work. But she said it’s too late, that she can’t wait for me to be ready, and I don’t know how to prove I am ready when she won’t give me a chance.”
“Have you shown her you’re in therapy?” Dr. Chen asks. “Have you shared what you’re learning here? Have you demonstrated the changes you’re making or just expected her to take it on faith?”
The questions hit harder than they should because the answer is no—Carter hasn’t shared anything about therapy with Priya, hasn’t shown her the work he’s doing, hasn’t demonstrated change at all except by respecting her boundaries, which isn’t actually demonstrating anything except that he can follow basic instructions.
“I didn’t want to use therapy as manipulation,” Carter says. “Didn’t want her to think I’m only doing this to win her back.”
“Are you only doing this to win her back?” Dr. Chen’s gaze is sharp, assessing.
“No.” Carter’s certain of that at least. “I’m doing this because I need to. Because I can’t keep living like this, terrified of commitment and pushing away anyone who gets close. Because even if Priya never takes me back, I need to fix my shit so I don’t keep repeating the same patterns.”
“Then that’s what you tell her,” Dr. Chen says simply. “You show her that therapy isn’t manipulation, it’s genuine work toward being a better person. You share your progress not to convince her to come back but to demonstrate that you’re serious about change regardless of whether she gives you another chance.”
It sounds simple when Dr. Chen says it—just show Priya the work, just be honest about therapy and growth, just demonstrate change instead of hiding it—but Carter knows execution is harder than theory, knows that approaching Priya with this will risk another rejection, knows that putting himself out there again is terrifying when she’s already shut him down multiple times.
“What if I do all that and she still says no?” Carter asks, voicing his deepest fear. “What if I show her everything and she’s moved on?”
“Then you’ll know you tried,” Dr. Chen says gently. “You’ll know you were brave enough to be vulnerable. You’ll know that you did the work to become someone worthy of love even if this particular love doesn’t work out. That’s growth, Carter. That’s what we’re working toward here—not guarantees, but the courage to try despite not knowing the outcome.”
The session ends with homework—Dr. Chen wants Carter to write out what he’d say to Priya if he had the chance, wants him to practice vulnerability on paper before attempting it in person, wants him to get comfortable with the discomfort of emotional honesty—and Carter goes home and stares at a blank page for two hours before finally writing.
Priya,
I know you said it’s too late. I know I’ve hurt you too many times and broken too many promises. I know I don’t deserve another chance.
But I’m in therapy. Twice a week sessions with Dr. Chen, working through commitment issues and parental trauma and all the fear that’s controlled my decisions for years. I’m doing the work—not to win you back (though I’d be lying if I said I don’t want that) but because I need to change regardless of whether we ever have a future.
I’ve learned things. About why I’m scared of relationships. About how I’ve been using my parents’ divorce as an excuse instead of dealing with my own fears. About the difference between being damaged and letting that damage control your life.
I’m not fixed. Not even close. But I’m trying to be better. Trying to become someone capable of the kind of love you deserve.
I love you. I’m in love with you. Have been for months even though I was too scared to admit it. And I know that’s not enough—knowing I love you doesn’t undo the hurt I caused—but I wanted you to know that it’s real. That my feelings are real even if my actions have been shit.
I don’t know if this changes anything. Don’t know if you still feel the same way or if I’ve killed whatever you felt for me. But I needed to tell you. Needed to show you that I’m serious about change instead of just hiding behind respect for your boundaries while secretly hoping you’d come back without me having to fight for you.
I’m fighting now. Maybe too late, maybe pointlessly, but I’m trying.
Carter
He reads it three times, edits twice, ultimately decides it’s as honest as he can get without turning into a complete mess—and then stares at it for another hour trying to decide whether to actually give it to Priya or if this is another form of not respecting her boundaries, another way of pressuring her when she’s made her choice clear.
His phone buzzes: Jamie.
Did you fix it yet?
Carter types back: Working on it. Maybe.
Good. Because watching you both be miserable is painful and I’m tired of it.
The message makes Carter smile despite everything—Jamie’s support wrapped in gruff complaint, the kind of friendship that means someone cares enough to call you on your shit—and gives him the push he needs to make a decision.
He’s going to give Priya the letter.
Not tonight—she needs more than a letter dropped on her at work or shoved under her apartment door—but soon, when he can do it properly, when he can give it to her and walk away so she has space to process without feeling pressured.
It’s a risk. Could blow up in his face. Could result in another rejection that destroys what’s left of Carter’s heart.
But Jamie’s right about one thing: not knowing is worse than knowing.
And Carter needs to know if there’s any chance, any possibility, any microscopic hope that Priya might still feel enough to give him one more opportunity to prove he’s changed.
Two weeks of separation has been torture.
Two weeks of professional-only contact has been destroying both of them.
Two weeks of Carter respecting boundaries while dying inside has taught him that respect without action isn’t enough, that showing love requires risk, that he can’t keep waiting for perfect conditions before fighting for what matters most.
So he’ll fight.
Will show Priya the letter.
Will demonstrate that he’s serious about therapy and growth.
Will risk rejection for the chance—however small—of winning back the woman he loves.
And if she says no, if it really is too late, at least Carter will know he tried.
At least he’ll have been brave.
At least he’ll have proof that he’s changed from the man who let fear control him into someone willing to risk everything for love.
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