Page 197 of Say My Name

“Elena.”

“There wouldn’t be anything to blame. You’d leave because people leave, and I’d lose someone who’d never given me a reason to hate him.”

I understand now. She wasn’t afraid I would become Daniel. She was terrified I would become temporary. The pain of that thought is sharper than any anger I’ve felt. It’s not about him. It’s about the simple, brutal fact that people leave.

“I can’t promise you I’ll never hurt you,” I say, the words scraping my throat. “I already have. We’ll argue, and I’ll make mistakes. I’ll try to solve things you need me to listen to, and you’ll probably create a spreadsheet proving I’m wrong.”

“That depends on the severity of the mistake.”

“There’ll be conditional formatting.”

“Obviously.”

I lift her hand and press my mouth to her palm. “I can’t guarantee perfection or give you a future with no risk.”

“I know.”

“What I can promise is that you won’t have to guess whether I’m still choosing you. I’ll tell you what I want. I’ll tell you when I’m angry or afraid. If I screw up, I’ll own it and do the work to repair it.”

A tear escapes and traces a path down her cheek.

“I won’t quietly plan an exit because honesty is uncomfortable. I won’t treat leaving like the simplest solution. I will keep showing up, and I’ll let you see me choose our life.”

Her mouth trembles into a small smile. “That’s what I should’ve asked for.”

“You can still ask.”

She takes a breath.

“I love you.”

I stare at her, unable to answer for a second.

I’ve wanted to hear those words from her for longer than I’ve admitted even to myself. I imagined them in my kitchen while staring at the extra mug she bought, in my bed where the scent of her shampoo lingered on the pillows.

The real thing is quieter and messier. Her face is wet, my shirt is wrinkled from her grip, and I wouldn’t trade this for any fantasy.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Dominic.”

She says my name, and it’s not an echo of the past or a shared secret. It’s a declaration.

I move closer until our knees press together.

“I love you too. I have for years.”

Her eyes widen. “Years?”

“My attempt not to make things more complicated appears to have been an unmitigated failure.”

“How did that work out?”

“Poorly.”

A small laugh breaks through her tears. “You’re impossible.”

“I chose wrong on Sunday,” she says. “You asked whether I wanted a real relationship and a shared life.”