Chapter 4 NAMING THE WOUNDS

The apartment was eerily quiet except for the soft, irregular drip of rain from Jackson's soaked clothes onto the floor. Emily watched him shrug off his jacket and lay it carefully over the back of a chair, as if afraid to disturb the delicate peace between them.

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold.

"You want some tea?" she asked, her voice thin, tentative.

Jackson glanced at her, something soft flickering across his face. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Tea would be good."

She disappeared into the kitchen, grateful for the excuse to turn her back for a moment, to breathe, to collect herself. She could feel his presence behind her like gravity - pulling at her, unsettling everything she had tried to settle.

She filled the kettle, set it on the stove, and leaned against the counter, waiting for the shrill whistle that would save her from the unbearable silence.

When she finally returned with two chipped mugs in hand, Jackson was sitting on the edge of the couch, his head in his hands. He looked up when he heard her, offering a small, broken smile. Emily hesitated, then sat down across from him, placing the mugs between them like peace offerings.

For a while, they said nothing.

The tea steamed between them. The clock ticked loudly on the wall. Somewhere in the building, a baby cried, then was hushed.

Finally, Jackson broke the silence.

"I kept telling myself I was doing the right thing," he said, his voice low, almost ashamed. "Pulling away. Pretending I wasn't scared. Acting like everything was fine when it wasn't." He scrubbed a hand through his damp hair. "But all it did was leave you alone."

Emily stared into her cup, watching the tea swirl. "I wasn't much better," she admitted. "I thought if I stayed quiet, if I didn't complain, you'd come back to me. I thought loving you silently would be enough to fix it."

She looked up, and the pain in his eyes nearly undid her.

"I missed you so much," she whispered, the tears finally spilling over. "Even when you were right there, I missed you."

Jackson's face crumpled. "I missed you too," he said, his voice breaking. "Every day. I just... I didn't know how to reach you anymore. And I was too proud to admit I needed you."

The honesty between them was brutal, and healing all at once - like disinfecting a deep wound. It stung, it burned, but it was necessary if there was ever going to be a chance at healing.

"I was scared," Emily said, swallowing thickly. "Scared that if I asked for more, you'd leave."

"I was scared too," Jackson said, his hands open, vulnerable. "I thought if you saw how broken I was, you'd stop loving me."

They sat there, the weight of their confessions filling the room.

"But you leaving hurt more than anything else ever could have," Emily whispered.

Jackson reached across the coffee table, slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. His fingertips brushed hers - tentative, questioning.

"I don't want to leave anymore," he said. "If you'll have me... if you even want to try... I want to stay. I want to build something better this time. Something honest."

Emily stared at their hands, at the trembling connection between them.

Could she trust him again? Could she trust herself?

Maybe love wasn't about the grand moments, the cinematic declarations.

Maybe love was in the trying - in the showing up, broken and raw, again and again.

She turned her hand over, lacing her fingers with his. His breath hitched audibly.

"I'm scared," she admitted.

"Me too," he said. "But we can be scared together."

The rain softened outside, a gentle tapping against the windows instead of a furious pounding. It was as if even the sky had decided to give them a moment of grace.

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Emily allowed herself a small, fragile smile.

Maybe this was how healing began: not with forgetting the pain, but by choosing each other in spite of it.

By learning to love not the perfect, imaginary versions of each other - but the real, messy, wounded souls sitting right here, holding hands in the quiet.