The day already felt to Noah like he was stumbling around in a dark forest. The more he tried to find his way out, the more lost he became. He kept replaying every mistake, every harsh word from his past, until his chest ached from the weight of it. In the rearview mirror, he saw his own face and told himself, “You’re not enough. Not now, not ever.” By the time he pulled into the driveway, the weight had become so heavy that he didn’t think he could ever find his way out.

Inside, Amelia leaned over the kitchen table with her phone in hand. A message from her best friend Janie blinked on the screen.

Are you sure Noah is really what you need?

It stung. She deleted the message immediately, needing to get it off her screen—off everything. She hated how easily people assumed she’d be better off without him. She needed to be in his arms. She wanted to reach out to him, but when he came through the door, his shoulders were already sagging. Something in her froze.

She tried to fill the silence, a failed attempt to lighten his mood. He dropped the car keys on the table. She tried to step towards him, but he just turned away.

Noah washed his hands at the sink without a word. The water rushed loud in the silence, then cut off, leaving only the hum of the refrigerator. They moved around each other carefully, as if afraid to brush too close, until plates were set.

By the time they sat down, the weight between them had grown unbearable. She kept waiting for him to look at her, to say something, anything. The silence stretched like a path leading them deeper into the woods, where even the simplest words felt impossible to find.

The air between them was thick with silence all throughout dinner. The scraping of the forks on their plates pierced the quiet room, like a warning siren in the lull.

Amelia tried, voice soft. “How was your day, babe?”

Noah answered without looking up from his plate, “Fine.”

Her phone buzzed with a notification. As she reached to silence it, his eyes narrowed, cold. “Am I that boring to you?” Noah demanded, the words coming out sharper than he intended, splintering like broken glass.

Her breath caught. “What? No, I just—”

“Forget it,” he muttered, shoving back his chair. The legs screeched across the hardwood floor, startling her. His voice rose, raw and jagged. “You don’t want me, Mia. You never did.”

She felt her heart shatter in that instant. She opened her mouth in protest, but stopped her words before they ever had a chance. He wasn’t hearing her anymore. His eyes were wild, almost panicked.

“I’ve never been good enough for you, Mia. I never will be. I just… need time to think. About us. About everything,” he paused, letting out a sigh before pleading with her. “Please. Don’t call me. Not tonight.” He slammed the door behind him.

The echo that lingered from his words haunted her. She felt like she was falling, standing by the door in disbelief, waiting to come crashing down—much like her entire world appeared to be doing.

The house was too silent after he left. Amelia sat at the table in the dark, eyes darting from door to clock to window. Midnight came slowly. Then one. Every passing minute, the pain in her chest grew tighter.

By then, her hope was all but gone. She stepped onto the back porch, sat against the wall, and folded into herself. Her sobs shook the silence. She kept thinking, is this it? Was five years together just borrowed time? Were we always meant to shatter?

She heard the crunch of tires over gravel. Her head snapped up as Noah’s car pulled into the driveway, headlights slicing through the dark. He sat still behind the wheel for what felt like an eternity before climbing out, shoulders low, steps slow. He didn’t see her at first, not until the porch light caught her face.

He stopped short. “Mia?” He truly didn’t expect her to care, to be here waiting. He thought maybe she would be relieved, be sound asleep in bed, calmer without his presence.

She blinked through her tears, then gasped. His face was swollen, bruised, a storm of red streaking his cheekbone.

“Oh my God… Noah!”

“It’s nothing.” His voice was hoarse. “I’m fine.”

But when she touched his face, just the slightest brush of her fingertips against his cheek, he flinched. She gathered him into her arms with care, holding him as if he might break.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his shoulder. “I’m sorry I make life so hard.”

His arms locked tight around her, his voice low but fierce. “You don’t. You never have. Mia…” He pulled back just enough to see her face. He gently placed his hand under her chin, lifting her eyes to meet his. “I couldn’t do this life without you.”

Her tears came again, but this time not from grief. He caught her hand and kissed it softly, as though he was sealing a vow neither of them had been brave enough to speak until now.

They didn’t mend every wound that night. Some run too deep to repair instantly. But Noah stayed. He didn’t vanish into the dark again. He sat with her until her sobs faded, until exhaustion pulled her into his chest. By dawn, they were asleep together on the couch, tangled and heavy, but safe.

Noah woke first. Pale light spread through the curtains, painting Amelia’s face in gold. Her hand was knotted into his shirt, holding him with quiet desperation, as though anchoring him to this moment. That was when it finally hit him — she wasn’t holding onto him out of fear. She was holding him because she wanted to. Because she still chose him.

He rose quietly, kissing her forehead gently to try not to wake her. Her eyes blinked open slowly, soft with sleep. She grabbed his hand and whispered, pleading, “Please don’t leave me again.”

He kissed her hand, voice steady this time. “You and me, Mia. We will always walk through the woods together. I will never leave you.”

Outside, morning stretched across the sky. The woods were still there, shadows lingering in memory, but they made it. For the first time in a long time, Noah believed they could find their way out of the woods, together.