Page 25 of Her Desire

"I'm sorry," I murmured, my voice trembling, but Ava turned away, a clear sign that sorry wasn't enough this time.

"Give me another chance," I whispered, reaching out, yearning to touch her, and reassure myself she was still real and not slipping through my fingers. "I... I'll do anything. Please don't leave me."

But even as the words left my lips, I saw it in her eyes—Ava had already made the decision. My heart shattered, fragments of who I thought we were scattering to the floor. How did I let us get to this point? How could I have mistaken control for care?

"Another chance?" Ava's words were soft, almost a murmur, but they cut through the silence with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. "I need to find who I am without someone shadowing me, Sam. Without feeling suffocated by a love meant to lift me up, not hold me down."

I felt the air leave my lungs; my knees weak. In this moment of truth, Ava forced me to confront the darkest parts of myself,the ones I had cloaked in the guise of protection and affection. All this time, I had been holding on too tightly, and now, I was losing everything.

My voice caught in my throat. "But I love you," I managed to say, the words heavy with a fear that tasted like iron on my tongue. "Isn't love supposed to be close? Together?"

"Love shouldn't feel like a cage," she countered, her voice quivering with a resolve that seemed to crumble with each syllable.

I wanted to protest, to tell her that my love was vast and free, but even as I opened my mouth, memories flooded back—times I had questioned her too intensely about who she was meeting or why she was late. My heart sank into my stomach; those weren't acts of love. They were chains I'd forged myself.

"Sam... I can't stay here, feeling like I'm constantly being watched, measured, and controlled." Her words, though spoken softly, struck me with the force of a tempest.

"Controlled?" The word echoed inside me, reverberating against the walls of my mind. It was true. I had been so terrified of losing her, of being alone again, that I built a fortress around us—or, more accurately, around her. And now that fortress was smothering her spirit.

"Sam," she began, her voice steadier than I'd heard it all night, "I need to be on my own for a while." Her brown eyes, usually so warm and inviting, held a resolute clarity that made my heart clench. "I can't find out who I am if I'm constantly trying to fit into the space you've carved out for me."

The penthouse felt too small, the walls closing in as I absorbed the gravity of her words. This was no mere declaration; it was Ava asserting a need that had been buried under my overzealous affection.

"Please, don’t do this," I whispered desperately, reaching out to bridge the gap I had created. My fingers brushed against hers,the contact sending a jolt through me. "I love you more than anything, Ava. I’ll give you space—I swear it. You can have your independence, and I'll support whatever you need to do. Just... please stay."

Tears blurred my vision, each one a silent testament to the pain of our unraveling. I could see the conflict in Ava's sweet face, the way she bit her lip and hesitated. For a moment, I allowed myself the faintest glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, she would reconsider.

But as she gently pulled her hand from mine, I knew that hope was as fragile as the silence that filled the room.

Sleep was a stranger to me that night. The bed was too big, too empty without her. I tossed and turned, each movement a reminder of my failings. I loved her—so fiercely, so completely—and yet, I was pushing her away with my insecurities, caging her spirit in my fear of abandonment.

Dawn crept in, a soft light against the dark tide of my thoughts. Ava slept on the couch, a silent testament to the gulf between us. I wanted to wake her, beg for forgiveness, and promise change, but the lump in my throat held me back.

"Please don't leave me," I whispered to the empty air, a prayer for the courage to face my demons, for the strength to be the partner Ava deserved. But as the sun rose, painting the sky with the colors of a new beginning, I was paralyzed by the fear that I may already be too late.

Chapter 17

Sam

The unwavering steadiness in her tone belied the turmoil I saw dancing in her eyes. Each word was a stone in my gut, heavy with the reality that this was more than a mere argument. We had reached a pivotal point, a divergence in the path we had been walking together.

Ava moved then, her petite frame navigating our shared space with a resolve that seemed foreign to me. There was grace in her movements, a determined elegance as she pulled her suitcase from the closet—the one we'd bought for adventures we planned to share. She precisely laid out clothes, folding each piece of her life away from mine.

"I’m going back to Seattle," she said, not looking at me but rather focusing on a sweater she smoothed with her slender fingers. Her voice didn't waver—calm with the decision made after stormy contemplation. "I need to figure things out for myself. I can't do that here. Not now."

It felt surreal watching her pack herself into that bag—pieces that used to fit so seamlessly into my days. With every fold, every careful placement, the knot in my throat tightened, my heart struggling against the inevitable.

"Is there... is there anything I can say?" My voice came out fractured, a mosaic of all the emotions I couldn't quite piece together. Hopelessness battled with desperation, sparring for a chance to alter the ending I could see unfolding before me.

Ava paused, her eyes lifting to meet mine once more. In them, I saw the same determination that had drawn me to her when we first met—the unwavering spirit that refused to settle, to shrink into the shadows of someone else's making. But there was sadness, too, a gentle mourning for what we were losing in pursuit of what she needed to find.

"No, Sam. This isn't about words anymore." Her reply was a soft dagger, one that cut clean and deep. "It's about action. And right now, I need to act for myself."

And with that, she zipped the suitcase closed—a sound that resonated like a closing chapter. She slung her bag over her shoulder, her small frame carrying the weight of our broken narrative as she headed toward the door.

"Take care of yourself, Sam," she said, her back to me now. Her voice held no anger, only the quiet strength of someone stepping into their own story. And though my instincts screamed at me to run after her, to stop her, I stood still.

Because for the first time, I understood that loving Ava meant letting her go.

---