Heather
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The dining table is suffocating.

It’s not the food or the endless wedding talk or even the way Melanie always seems to look right through me.

It’s me.

It’s the decisions I haven’t made, the lines I haven’t drawn. And now, I’m sitting here trying to act like everything’s normal when my insides feel like they’re splintering apart.

Robin finally walks in. I know the second she steps into the room, even though I keep my eyes locked on my plate. I can feel her presence, this magnetic pull that’s hard to ignore.

My hand tightens around my fork.

She says “hey,” soft but insistent. That voice—the one that usually makes me feel like I can breathe again—just makes it harder tonight.

I glance up, but only for a second. “Hey.”

And that’s all I give her. If I say more, I’m not sure what will come out.

The conversation around the table drones on, but I’m only half-listening. Robin’s eyes are on me, and I can feel them.

She’s waiting, confused and I hate that I’m doing this to her. I hate that I can’t just reach out and make everything okay. But the truth is, nothing about this is okay anymore.

I told myself this would be simple. Sneaking into her room, stealing kisses when no one was looking, falling asleep beside her like the rest of the world didn’t matter. It was supposed to be enough—these stolen moments, this quiet thing just for us.

But it’s not anymore.

I swallow, trying to focus on the food even though it is tasteless in my mouth.

“Isn’t that right, Heather?”

I blink, realizing Robin's mom is looking at me, waiting for a response to whatever wedding-related detail she’s just rambled on about. I nod mechanically.

“Yeah. That sounds great.”

Robin’s mom beams, clearly satisfied, and I force a smile back. The perfect little fiancée, right?

Except I’m not. I’m a liar.

Robin pushes her plate away, appetite gone. She doesn’t say anything, but the tension between us is a living, breathing thing now. I want to say something—anything—to break it, but I can’t. The words are stuck somewhere between my guilt and my fear.

I excuse myself before dessert, claiming I’m tired. It’s a flimsy excuse, but no one questions it. Javis barely notices; he’s too busy charming everyone at the table.

Robin watches me go, her gaze heavy on my back as I leave the dining room.

When I reach the hallway, I stop, pressing my hand against the wall to steady myself. My heart is racing. It feels like I’m walking a tightrope, and every step I take brings me closer to falling.

I want Robin. That’s the one thing I’m sure of in all this chaos.

But what I’m doing—what we’re doing—it’s going to tear everything apart.

And I’m not sure if I’m brave enough to face the fallout.

I hear footsteps, quick and determined. It's Robin no doubt. It's like she’s not going to let me leave this hanging. I’m still standing in the hallway when she reaches me, and for a second, neither of us speaks.

Her eyes are wide, filled with hurt and confusion.

“Heather, what’s going on?” Her voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it, like she’s holding herself together by a thread.

I want to tell her it’s nothing, that I’m just tired, that I’ll sneak into her room later and everything will go back to the way it was. But the words won’t come. They feel hollow now.

Instead, I take a deep breath and say the one thing I’ve been dreading.

“We can’t keep doing this.”

Her face falls. “What?”

“This… us. It’s too much. It’s too dangerous. If we keep going, it’s going to break everyone.”

Robin takes a step closer. “I don’t care about everyone else.”

“But I do,” I say, my voice cracking. “This whole wedding is on me. Our families, everything—if this comes out, it’ll ruin everything.”

“I don’t care about the wedding either!” She’s raising her voice now, and the sound echoes through the empty hallway. She brings the tone back down. “Heather, I care about you. About us.”

Her words cut straight through me, and I feel myself unraveling. “Don’t you get it?” I snap. “There is no us. There can’t be.”

Robin flinches, like I’ve slapped her. But instead of backing down, she steps right into my space, her face inches from mine.

“You don’t believe that,” she says quietly. “You wouldn’t have been sneaking into my room every night if you believed that.”

I close my eyes, fighting the sting of tears. She’s right. But that doesn’t change anything.

“This isn’t just about what we want,” I whisper. “It’s about what’s best for everyone. And this—us—it’s not what’s best.”

“It’s what’s best for me.” Robin’s voice breaks, and it’s enough to shatter the fragile control I’ve been clinging to.

I open my eyes, and for a second, we just stand there, everything raw and open between us. I want to say yes. To take her hand and run far away from all of this. But I can’t.

“I really care about you, Robin,” I say, and the words are the most painful truth I’ve ever spoken.

Her eyes soften, and for a moment, I think she’s going to pull me into her arms. But I don’t let her.

“And that’s why I have to stop this,” I continue. “Because if we keep going, we’re both going to break. And I can’t—” My voice catches. “I can’t do that to you. Again.”

Robin takes a shaky breath, her hands trembling at her sides. “Heather, please…”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

She stands there for a long moment, searching my face for any sign that I might take it all back. But I don’t.

Finally, she turns and walks away, and the sound of her retreating footsteps is the loneliest thing I’ve ever heard.

I stay in the hallway until I’m sure she’s gone into her room. Then I slip into mine, pressing my hand against my mouth to keep the sobs inside.

It doesn’t matter that I care about her.

It doesn’t matter that I’m breaking too.

This is what’s best.

It has to be.

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