Page 187 of Say My Name

“You needed to decide what happens next before anyone else could affect the decision.”

“That isn’t fair.”

“It’s pretty accurate.”

I stand and dump my untouched coffee in the sink, the lukewarm liquid splashing against the steel. “I know how to make decisions.”

“Yes, you do. You’re brilliant at taking all the available information and building the safest possible plan.”

“That’s generally considered a strength.”

“At work? Absolutely. With Dominic?” She pauses. “Deciding feels safer to you than wanting.”

I grip the counter. The words land like a punch, too accurate to ignore. So I reach for the one want I have a plan for. “I want a child,” I say.

“I know.”

“I wanted this pregnancy.”

“I know that too.”

“And Dominic, his voice quiet, had ended the agreement.”

“Did he end his feelings for you?”

“No.”

“Did you end yours?”

I stare through the window at the trees, at the empty space where the sky meets the ridge. Saying it out loud feels like stepping off a cliff.

“No.”

Olivia’s voice softens. “Then maybe stop trying to plan everyone’s future before you even let yourself want something.”

After we hang up, I leave my laptop closed.

It’s the most productive thing I do all day.

Sunday morning, I download a trail map, check the weather twice, and pack enough water for a short hike and a minor emergency.

Apparently, even walking requires a contingency plan.

The trail climbs through tall pines before curving toward an open ridge. Cold air stings my cheeks, but the sun is warm across my shoulders. I concentrate on each step, the scrape of my boots against the dirt, and the steady pull in my legs.

For nearly ten minutes, the rhythm of walking keeps my thoughts quiet.

Then I hear Olivia again.

Deciding feels safer to you than wanting.

I’ve always trusted my ability to assess risk. It made me good at my job long before I had the title to prove it. It also helped me rebuild after Daniel.

He entered my life as my mentor, then became my boss and my partner. He had experience, connections, and authority I didn’t possess yet. He offered guidance until I stopped noticing how often his advice required me to change something: my schedule, my goals, the people I trusted, and the opportunities I accepted.

Each compromise sounded reasonable while I was making it. By the time I understood how much of my life depended on his approval, he’d placed himself inside every important decision.

Then he ended our relationship and threatened the career he’d taught me to believe I owed him.