“Nothing’s going to happen.”
Something happened.
“I don’t think I’m in this the way you are.”
He took me to a candlelit restaurant that looked like it came with a complimentary engagement ring. Roses. Soft music. Couples doing intense eye contact. The waiter called us “lovebirds,” and I almost evaporated.
Jace was smiling too hard. He drank half his wine in 10 minutes. I poked at my pasta because my stomach felt like it was tumbling down stairs.
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Halfway through, he set his fork down.
“Briar… I don’t think I’m in this the way you are.”
I blinked. “Are you serious?”
“I’m not fighting. I’m asking what you mean.”
He nodded, calm. “I’m sorry. I just don’t feel excited anymore.”
Four years. Reduced to “not excited.”
“Not excited,” I repeated.
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He sighed. “I don’t want to fight.”
“I’m not fighting. I’m asking what you mean.”
“You said you’d support me until I finished.”
He glanced around like other couples might overhear. “I just don’t see a future. I thought I did. I don’t.”
I laughed, sharp. “You told me to quit my job.”
“I didn’t force you.”
My hands started shaking. “You begged me to focus. You said you’d support me until I finished.”
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He rubbed his forehead. “I’m not saying I regret supporting you. I’m saying I can’t do it anymore.”
If he wanted to end things, I couldn’t force him to stick around.
“So you waited until Valentine’s Day, in public, to tell me you’re done.”
“It’s not like that.”
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