Annalise bought the ticket before she could talk herself out of it.
She stood at the small train station just after noon, breath fogging in the cold, fingers curled tightly around her phone as the confirmation email loaded. The screen glowed bright against the gray winter sky.
Departure: Tomorrow.
The word settled in her chest like a stone.
She told herself it was temporary. That she just needed space. That leaving didn't mean abandoning everything again—it just meant breathing. But the lie felt thin even as she repeated it in her mind.
Because she knew this feeling.
This wasn't clarity.
This was fear.
The town carried on around her, unaware of the decision she'd just made. A man shoveled snow near the platform. A woman laughed into her scarf as she hurried past. Life moved forward the way it always did—unbothered by the quiet wars people fought inside themselves.
Annalise sat on the bench, staring down the tracks.
Ten years ago, she'd left in a rush. This time, she was leaving carefully. Thoughtfully. And somehow, that made it worse.
She didn't notice Liam until his voice cut through the air.
"You're at the station."
She turned slowly.
He stood a few feet away, hands clenched at his sides, eyes fixed on her with something between disbelief and resignation.
"So," he continued, quieter now. "I guess that answers my question."
Her throat tightened. "Liam—"
"You weren't going to tell me," he said. Not accusing. Just tired.
"I was," she lied.
He let out a breath that fogged the space between them. "When?"
She had no answer.
The silence stretched, heavy and unforgiving.
"Is it me?" he asked finally.
"No," she said immediately. "It's me. It's always been me."
"That's not comforting," he replied. "That just means I can't fix it."
She looked away, blinking hard. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You already are," he said quietly. "What hurts is that you don't even seem to realize it."
The words landed hard—not because they were cruel, but because they were true.
They walked without speaking, leaving the station behind, snow crunching beneath their boots. Annalise didn't know where they were going, only that stopping felt impossible.
"I'm scared," she admitted eventually. "Of staying. Of failing. Of becoming the person everyone expects me to be."
"And what about who you want to be?" Liam asked.
"I don't know anymore," she whispered.
He stopped walking.
She turned back to face him, heart pounding.
"I waited," he said. "I waited ten years. Not because I thought you owed me anything—but because what we had mattered. And now you're here, and I can almost touch it again, and you're already halfway out the door."
Her chest ached. "I didn't ask you to wait."
"No," he agreed. "You didn't. But I chose to. Just like you're choosing to leave."
The word choosing echoed painfully.
She stepped closer, voice trembling. "What if I stay and ruin it? What if I disappoint you? What if I can't be enough?"
His eyes softened then—gentler than she expected. "What if you already are?"
The question broke something open inside her.
Tears spilled over before she could stop them. "I don't trust myself," she said. "Every time things get real, I run."
"Then don't," he said simply. "Stay scared. Stay unsure. Just… stay."
They stood there in the falling snow, breaths ragged, emotions raw.
"I don't need certainty," Liam continued. "I need honesty. If you leave tomorrow, say it. But don't pretend it doesn't hurt. Don't pretend it doesn't mean something."
She reached for him, fingers curling into his coat like an anchor. "It means everything."
"Then act like it," he said.
Their faces were inches apart now. She could feel his breath, see the tension in his jaw, the vulnerability he never showed anyone else.
"I love you," she said suddenly, the words spilling out before fear could stop them.
He froze.
Then slowly, carefully, he lifted his hands and cupped her face, thumbs brushing away her tears.
"I never stopped," he replied. "But loving you shouldn't feel like waiting for the next goodbye."
Something shifted then—not dramatically, not magically—but firmly.
Annalise realized that leaving wouldn't protect her. It would only repeat the same wound, deepen the same regret.
"I bought a ticket," she whispered.
His hands fell away.
"For tomorrow," she added quickly. "But… I don't know if I'm getting on that train."
He nodded, pain flickering through his eyes. "That's your choice."
She swallowed. "If I stay… it won't be perfect."
"I don't want perfect," he said. "I want real."
That night, Annalise lay awake again, but this time the silence felt louder.
She stared at her packed suitcase.
Then at the town outside her window.
Then at her phone, where Liam's last words replayed in her mind.
I want real.
Slowly, she stood.
Unzipped the suitcase.
And began unpacking.
Not all of it.
Not yet.
Just enough to signal something had changed.
By morning, the town was hushed under fresh snow. Annalise stood at the station again—but this time, she wasn't alone.
Mara stood beside her, arms crossed. "You look like someone about to jump or stay very still."
Annalise smiled faintly. "That obvious?"
"You always were," Mara said. "So… what's it going to be?"
The train whistle sounded in the distance.
Annalise closed her eyes.
And waited.