When You Stop Reaching Out First Novels & Stories

Unsure of where to start, her fingers paused over the keyboard; suddenly, plain and straightforward, the words arrived. Stop running. No more quiet. Time to push back.

I want to respect that, even if it leaves me feeling a bit shut out. To distract myself from the uncertainty, I decide to reach out to Stella. She has always been a good friend, someone I can rely on to lift my spirits. I text her, asking if she’s free for a meet-up, and almost immediately, she responds with enthusiasm. She’s hosting a fashion show and invites me to join her. The timing couldn’t be better—I need something to take my mind off the tension at home.

That’s what he always did. My thumb hovered over his name in my contacts. Just one call. That was all it would take. But then— It renders me leaving in the first place useless. My thumb slowly moved away from the screen. I couldn’t. Not yet. I exhaled slowly, my grip on the phone loosening just slightly. “If I go…” I whispered softly to myself. My voice sounded distant. “If I go… it stops here.” That was the only way this worked. The only way this ended.

That it only took one fracture to bring everything crashing down. And I would be the one to strike it. I picked up my phone again, opening a new contact, fingers steady now, mind clear. It was time to stop reacting. Time to create the moment they wouldn’t be able to erase.

Unavoidable. This wasn’t the beginning. It wasn’t even the middle. It was just—the first successful step. And now—he won’t stop.

The first week without Damien is harder than I expected. I reach for my phone twenty times a day to text him something—a funny observation, a work frustration, a question about nothing important. Each time, I stop myself. Put the phone down. Sit with the urge until it passes. It doesn't always pass. On Wednesday, I draft a message: "Saw a terrible pottery tutorial that made me think of my disasters. Miss having someone who understands why that's funny." I delete it without sending.

I cannot start finding comfort in texting Flynn every time something frightens me. That thought arrived fully formed and I sat with it honestly. It was a true thought. Flynn was not a resource I was entitled to reach for when things got hard. He was a person I had divorced and who was doing the work of becoming someone different and the fact that reaching out to him tonight had felt natural was not a reason to make it a habit. It was a reason to pay attention to why it felt natural and keep that understanding exactly where it belonged, which was at a careful distance from my phone.

Unable to contain himself, Lucas cried out with tears in his eyes, "Mother, why can't you see how hard Father and I have tried?" Leon, having grown more composed, paused in thought before saying, "Amelia, I know you're just angry right now. Lucas and I will wait for you. "If you change your mind, just come to the second SUV at the town entrance." I ignored him, then turned around and went home to pack. The next morning, I carried my bag to the convoy. When Leon and Lucas saw me coming, they both smiled with relief. Lucas sneered. "Looks like even after six years, Mother still hasn't outgrown her habit of saying one thing and meaning another!"

I had been so afraid of the answer that I had stopped asking the question. It had to stop. The cycle of almosts and maybes and what-ifs had to end. I had to stop waiting for him to be ready and start showing him that I was already there. That I had always been there. That I would always be there. That I was done with almost.