She wanted to say yes. Wanted to believe it could be that simple.
But she'd learned the hard way that "right now" was all anyone ever had. And "right now" could end in a heartbeat.
"Ask me again in a week," she whispered. "When the newness wears off. When you remember why you started running in the first place."
"I'll ask you every day for the rest of my life if that's what it takes." He kissed her forehead. "You're worth staying for, Maya. I just need you to believe it."
As they fell asleep tangled together, Maya's phone buzzed with a text from Dr. Chen: Session tomorrow at 4. We need to talk about avoidance patterns.
Maya smiled in the dark. Her therapist had impeccable, terrible timing.
But maybe Dr. Chen was right. Maybe it was time to stop running from her own life.
Maybe it was time to be brave.
Even if brave meant risking everything.
"You're self-sabotaging."
Dr. Lynn Chen delivered the diagnosis with the calm directness that made her an excellent therapist and occasionally infuriating human being. She sat across from Maya in her office, notebook open, expression neutral.
"I'm not self-sabotaging," Maya protested. "I'm being realistic."
"You slept with him again yesterday. You spent the entire day together. You admitted you're falling for him." Dr. Chen tilted her head. "And now you're sitting in my office listing all the reasons it won't work. That's textbook self-sabotage."
Maya slumped in the comfortable chair she'd occupied every other week for two years. "He's leaving in six weeks."
"He offered to stay."
"And I told him to ask me again in a week. When the shine wears off."
"Because you're already planning the ending instead of experiencing the present." Dr. Chen set down her notebook. "Maya, we've been working on this pattern for months. You're so afraid of future loss that you're creating it now. Guaranteeing the very thing you fear."
"So what am I supposed to do? Just believe everything will be fine? Ignore reality?"
"No. Acknowledge reality and choose to engage anyway." Dr. Chen leaned forward. "Your mother died suddenly. That's real. That pain is valid. But using that one terrible experience to wall yourself off from all future connection that's not protection. That's prison."
Maya felt tears burning behind her eyes. "I don't know how to do anything else."
"Yes, you do. You painted yesterday. For the first time in two years, you created something. That's not prison behavior. That's living." Dr. Chen's voice softened. "What changed?"
"Ethan. He took me to this river, and he just… saw what I needed. He didn't push or fix or try to therapize me. He just created space for me to try."
"And how did that feel?"
"Terrifying. And right. And like everything I've been avoiding." Maya wiped her eyes. "Which is exactly why I should walk away now. Before it gets worse."
"Or before it gets better?" Dr. Chen pulled out her notebook again. "Let me ask you something. What's your worst-case scenario here?"
"He leaves. I'm devastated. I can't function. I lose myself the way I did when Mom died."
"Okay. And what's your best-case scenario?"
Maya was quiet for a long moment. "I don't know."
"Exactly. You've spent two years planning for loss. You haven't let yourself imagine what winning could look like." Dr. Chen wrote something down. "Your homework this week: imagine the best possible outcome. Not realistic, not hedged best possible. What does that look like?"
"That feels dangerous."
"It is dangerous. That's the point." Dr. Chen smiled gently. "You're already doing dangerous things, Maya. You're already falling. The question is whether you'll let yourself experience the fall or spend the whole time bracing for impact."
Maya left the session feeling exposed and uncertain, her phone buzzing with a text from Ethan: Dinner with Marcus and his family tonight? Warning: there's a two-year-old who thinks I'm a jungle gym. 7pm?
Meeting his friends. Meeting the people who mattered to him. That felt significant. Real.
Okay, she typed back. But if the toddler doesn't like me, I'm leaving.
Oliver loves everyone. Especially people who give him cookies. Bring cookies.
Manipulative.
Effective.
Maya smiled despite her anxiety and stopped at a bakery on the way home.
Marcus lived in a house in the suburbs—an actual house with a yard and a minivan in the driveway and toys scattered on the front porch. It was so aggressively domestic that Maya felt like she'd stepped into a different universe.
Ethan met her at the door, pulling her into a kiss that made her forget her nerves.
"You brought cookies," he said, eyeing the bakery box.
"I was told it was required for entry."
"Smart woman." He laced his fingers through hers. "Fair warning: Marcus is going to interrogate you. His wife Lauren will be more subtle but equally thorough. And Oliver will likely try to climb you."
"Sounds delightful."
"It's actually kind of perfect." Ethan's expression was soft, vulnerable. "I want them to meet you. Want them to see why I'm thinking about staying."
Before Maya could process that loaded statement, the front door flew open and a tiny tornado in dinosaur pajamas launched himself at Ethan's legs.
"Efan! You came!"
"Hey, buddy!" Ethan scooped up the toddler with practiced ease. "Oliver, this is my friend Maya. Can you say hi?"
Oliver peered at Maya with enormous brown eyes, then held out his hands. "Up!"
"He's very trusting," Maya said, carefully taking the child. Oliver immediately grabbed her hair.
"Sorry," a woman appeared in the doorway Lauren, presumably. She was beautiful and tired-looking, with a baby strapped to her chest and flour on her shirt. "He's in a climbing phase. Oliver, gentle with the nice lady's hair."
"It's fine," Maya said, and was surprised to find she meant it. Oliver was warm and solid and smelled like baby shampoo and crackers. "I brought cookies."
"You're officially my favorite person Ethan's ever brought over." Lauren ushered them inside. "Which isn't saying much, since the last one was actively terrible."