Page 96 of From Maybe to Baby

My phone lights up with Jonas's face—not stick-figure Jonas, but real Jonas. Jonas who deserves better than someone who runs. Jonas who deserves someone who stays. Damn my iPhone.

"The kids want to know about Saturday," he says when I answer. His voice is careful. Everything about him is careful lately. "Lukas has that hockey thing..."

The hockey thing. The one I promised to film. The one I promised to celebrate. The one I...

"I can't."

Silence. Then, softer: "Paris?"

"Jonas..."

"Take the time you need." Always understanding. Always careful. "Just... you know they adore you. However this goes, remember that."

That's what breaks me.

Not the drawing, though it cracked me.

Not the vodka, though it blurred me.

Not the flight booking page staring at me.

The simple fact of being wanted.

The terrifying weight of being needed in return.

I hit "Book Now" on the Paris flight through tears I can't stop. Through shaking hands that can't seem to type my name right. Through a heart that's screaming, asking me if I’m making the right decision.

Just one more tiny bottle.

The confirmation email arrives like a death sentence: "Bienvenue à Paris!"

New life.

Maybe a better life?

A happier life?

Or just... a new life.

I prop up Jace's drawing on my nightstand. Apparently, I like to torment myself.

I book the earliest flight possible. Tomorrow. Before I can change my mind. Before tiny people can convince me not to.

I text Jonas one last time. Simple. Final. "I'm so sorry."

Then I grab the drawing from my nightstand, fold it carefully, and slide it into my passport holder.

Because it’s more than just a drawing. It’s all the messy pieces of me I’m leaving behind. But that’s okay. This is my chance to start fresh, to prove I’m more than the sum of what I’m walking away from.

Paris will be worth it. It has to be.

14

JONAS

She’s gone.The kind of gone you can’t argue with—an empty office, no more toiletries hogging my bathroom sink, no more shoes by the door. Not to mention, a goodbye text that is more of an apology than a farewell.

At dinner, Jace pushes her spaghetti around the plate, her fork making a slow, sad scrape against the dish. Lukas doesn’t even pretend to eat.

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