Updated Nov 21, 2025 • ~8 min read
The morning after the engagement should have been perfect.
Instead, Owen woke up at 4 AM, staring at the ceiling, having a complete panic attack.
He’d proposed.
Lucy had proposed.
They were engaged.
Getting married.
Which meant he’d be married again.
Which meant he’d be giving someone the power to destroy him again.
Lucy stirred beside him, still asleep. The ring on her finger caught the early morning light.
His ring.
On Lucy’s finger.
What have I done?
Owen slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake her. Went downstairs to the shop, seeking the comfort of books and silence.
But silence just meant space to think.
And thinking led to spiraling.
Rebecca had worn his ring once. Had promised forever. Had said all the same things Lucy was saying now.
And then she’d left.
Walked away like their marriage, their daughter, their entire life together meant nothing.
What if Lucy did the same?
What if this feeling—this desperate, overwhelming love—was temporary? What if she woke up in six months, a year, five years, and realized she’d made a mistake?
What if Owen gave her everything and she left anyway?
He sat on the floor between the poetry and mystery sections (his favorite spot for existential crises) and tried to breathe through the panic.
This was a mistake. They’d moved too fast. Three months wasn’t long enough to know if forever was real.
He should call it off. Tell Lucy they needed more time. Return the rings.
His phone buzzed: a text from Lucy upstairs.
Where are you? Bed’s cold without you.
Owen stared at the message.
He should go back up. Should talk to her. Should be honest about the terror coursing through his veins.
Instead, he texted: Inventory crisis. Need to handle something. Sleep in.
A lie. He was lying to his fiancée about his panic attack.
Great start to their engagement.
By the time Lucy woke up properly and came downstairs, Owen had perfected his mask of normalcy.
“Morning,” he said, not looking up from the computer. “Coffee’s ready.”
“Thanks.” Lucy poured a cup, moving to kiss him.
Owen turned his head at the last second—lips landing on his cheek instead of his mouth.
He felt her pause. Regroup.
“Everything okay?” she asked carefully.
“Fine. Just busy. Summer tourist season prep.”
“It’s August. Tourist season is almost over.”
“Which means planning for fall revenue strategies.”
Lucy studied him. Owen kept his eyes on the screen, typing random words to look occupied.
“Owen.”
“Hmm?”
“Look at me.”
He didn’t want to. Didn’t want her to see the panic he was barely containing.
But he looked up anyway.
Lucy’s expression shifted from concern to something harder to read. “You’re freaking out.”
“I’m not—”
“You are. You’re freaking out about the engagement.”
“Lucy, I’m fine—”
“Don’t lie to me.” Her voice was sharp. “We’re supposed to be partners. That means honest, even when it’s hard.”
Owen closed the laptop. “Fine. Yes. I’m freaking out. Happy?”
“Not particularly. Why?”
“Because we got engaged after three months! Because I’ve done this before and it ended in disaster! Because—” He stopped, the words tangling in his throat.
“Because you’re terrified I’ll leave,” Lucy finished quietly.
“Yes.”
The admission hung between them.
Lucy set down her coffee. “I’m not Rebecca.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because you’re treating me like I’m a flight risk.”
“You’re not a flight risk, you’re—” Owen ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. “You’re everything. And that’s terrifying. Because if I give you everything and you leave anyway—”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t know that!”
“Yes, I do!”
They were shouting now. At seven AM in an empty bookshop, engaged less than twelve hours, already fighting.
“My wife promised forever,” Owen said, voice breaking. “Promised she wanted this life, this town, me. And then she woke up one day and decided none of it was enough. What if—”
“What if I’m not her?” Lucy’s eyes flashed. “What if I actually mean it when I say I’m staying? What if you trust me?”
“I want to trust you—”
“But you don’t. Not really. Not enough to believe I won’t destroy you like she did.”
The words hit like a physical blow.
“That’s not fair,” Owen said.
“Neither is assuming I’ll leave!” Lucy’s voice cracked. “I proposed to you, Owen. I bought a ring. I made myself vulnerable and told you I wanted forever. And less than a day later, you’re already planning our ending.”
“I’m trying to protect myself—”
“From me. You’re trying to protect yourself from me.” Lucy’s eyes were wet. “I’m not the enemy. I’m not the person who hurt you. I’m the person who loves you. Why can’t that be enough?”
Owen didn’t have an answer.
Lucy nodded like he’d confirmed something. “Right. Okay.”
“Lucy—”
“I need space. To think. To figure out if…” She trailed off, grabbing her keys.
“Where are you going?”
“Away. Anywhere. I don’t know.” She headed for the door.
“Lucy, wait—”
“No. You wait. You sit here and figure out if you actually want to marry me or if you’re just going through the motions because it’s what’s expected.” She paused at the door, not turning around. “I love you, Owen. I want forever with you. But I can’t fight your ex-wife’s ghost and your fear and your inability to trust me all at the same time. You need to decide: am I staying or am I leaving? And then you need to actually believe your answer.”
She left.
The bell chimed her exit like a death knell.
Owen stood alone in the shop, surrounded by books and silence and the wreckage of his panic.
He’d pushed her away.
Just like he’d been afraid of.
Self-fulfilling prophecy at its finest.
Maisie came downstairs at eight, ready for breakfast and wedding planning.
She took one look at Owen’s face and stopped. “Where’s Lucy?”
“She went out.”
“Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re sad-mad.” Maisie moved closer, concerned. “Dad, what happened?”
“Nothing. We just… had a disagreement.”
“About what?”
“Adult things.”
“About the engagement,” Maisie guessed. “You freaked out, didn’t you?”
Owen stared at his eight-year-old. “How do you—”
“I’m eight, not blind. You got really quiet after Lucy went upstairs last night. And you always get quiet when you’re scared.” She climbed onto his lap—getting too big for this but neither ready to stop. “Did you tell Lucy you were scared?”
“Kind of.”
“Did you tell her why?”
“I… maybe not the right way.”
“Did you make her think you don’t want to marry her?”
Owen’s silence was answer enough.
Maisie groaned. “Dad. You’re being dumb again.”
“Maise—”
“No, you are! Lucy loves us. She’s not going anywhere. But you keep acting like she’s going to leave, and if you keep acting like that, you’re going to push her away!” Maisie’s voice rose. “Mom left because she wanted to. Not because you did anything wrong. But if Lucy leaves, it’ll be because you didn’t believe she wanted to stay!”
The truth of it hit like a punch.
“I’m scared,” Owen admitted. “I’m so scared of losing her.”
“Then stop pushing her away! Love her like she’s staying! Trust her!” Maisie’s eyes filled. “I want Lucy to be my mom. Real mom. Forever mom. Please don’t ruin this because you’re scared.”
Owen held his daughter while she cried, feeling like the world’s worst father and fiancé.
Maisie was right.
He was so busy protecting himself from potential pain that he was creating real pain.
For Lucy. For Maisie. For himself.
He needed to fix this.
Needed to stop letting Rebecca’s abandonment dictate his future.
Lucy wasn’t Rebecca.
Lucy had quit her job, sold her condo, moved across the state to run a struggling bookshop with a stranger who’d hated her on sight.
Lucy had proposed. Had fought for them, for the shop, for Maisie.
Lucy had stayed through storms and stress and his terrible morning person habits.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
Unless he drove her away with his fear.
“You’re right,” Owen told Maisie. “I’m being dumb.”
“Very dumb.”
“I need to apologize.”
“Groveling level apology,” Maisie agreed. “With words and actions and probably flowers.”
Owen kissed her forehead. “When did you get so wise?”
“I’ve always been wise. You just finally started listening.”
He laughed despite everything. “I need to find Lucy.”
“She went to the beach. She always goes to the beach when she’s upset.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I pay attention.” Maisie pushed him toward the door. “Go. Fix this. Grovel properly. Don’t come back without her.”
“What if she doesn’t want to talk to me?”
“Then you grovel harder. This is Lucy, Dad. Our Lucy. You have to fight for her.”
Owen grabbed his keys, stopped. “Maise? I love you. You know that?”
“I know. I love you too. Now go get Mom back.”
Mom.
Right. Lucy was going to be Maisie’s mom. His wife. His partner in everything.
If he didn’t completely screw this up.
Owen ran for the beach, praying he wasn’t too late.
Praying Lucy would give him another chance.
Praying he could find the courage to trust what they had.
Because Maisie was right: Lucy was staying.
He just had to let her.
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