Page 100 of The Accidental Honeymoon

He means it when he says he loves me. I can tell. But… is that enough to sustain us?

I already know the answer.

Jay's breathing slows and gradually becomes steady and deep. I lie against his chest, listening to the rise and fall, feeling the thud of his heart.

I love him. My feelings only make everything so much more complicated.

When I am certain he’s asleep, I slide carefully out of bed, not wanting to wake him. I stand there for a moment and take in his sleeping form. He looks so peaceful, so content. A wave of longing crashes over me.

How can I ever tell him the truth? That I’m terrified of what loving him will cost me? That I don’t know if I can handle the kind of like-but-not love that he’s offering me.

I turn away, biting my lip, and tiptoe to the door. I allow myself one last look. He murmurs something in his sleep. My heart twists. For a moment, I think aboutcrawling back into bed and dealing with this whole thing tomorrow.

But no. It’s better to make the first cut as deep as is necessary to get this man out of my life.

I move through the house on silent feet. The warmth of Jay’s touch is already fading and it invites a chill to creep up my spine.

Going downstairs, I find his office door ajar. I slip inside, closing it softly behind me. The room is neat and organized, the desk piled high with stacks of sponsorship offers, the back wall full of dusty old books. It’s hard to imagine Jay in here flipping through one of the tomes. Maybe they’re just for decoration.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself, then I rifle through the papers on top of his desk. Then I open the drawers one by one. Bills, receipts, a jumble of stationery.

Where are the papers? Did he hide them?

My eyes land on the trashcan beside the desk. Slowly, I peer inside. There, crumpled like yesterday’s news, are the annulment papers.

I reach for them, my fingers hesitant, as if the papers might bite.

I stand, holding the papers like a fragile bird, and stare at the desk. The significance of the discarded documents sinks in.

Maybe Jay meant what he said when he told me he loved me. Maybe he really wants to give us a try.

But if I don’t leave, I will always wonderwhat if.

What if he doesn’t want to try? What if he doesn’t want me forever? I can’t take the risk. Not with something this big.

I have to leave. I need clarity, independence, time to sortout what I really want. Staying would mean risking everything.

My heart, my career, my carefully constructed life.

With a deep breath, I remove the huge diamond ring from my finger. I sign the annulment papers that I found balled up in the trash. They take no time at all to sign my name to. I place the ring and the papers in the middle of the desk. Then I take a blank sheet of paper and scrawl a note.

The words are simple, but they carry the weight of all my conflicted feelings.

This was amazing. I’ll never forget it. – love, me.

I leave my letter on top of the pile on the desk. After one last look at the ring, at the note, I turn away. My footsteps are heavy as I walk to the door, each step a tear in the fabric of what we could have been.

It takes a few minutes of sneaky stuff-gathering before I’m really ready to leave. Finally, I open the kitchen door and pause, listening to the silence of the house, before stepping out.

The door closes softly behind me as I step into the crisp morning air. It bites at my cheeks, a stark contrast to the warmth inside the house.

This already feelsterrible.

I walk down the path, each step measured, purposeful.

At the curb, I pause and pull out my phone. The screen lights up, and I see a missed call from my mother the night before and a flurry of notifications from social media. I swipe them away and open my messages. Myfingers hover for a moment, then type:Hi, Chef. I will see you in New Orleans next week. Thanks again for the opportunity.

I read the text three times, making sure it says what I want it to say. This is me moving forward, embracing new opportunities, and committing to a fresh start. This is me being brave.

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