A Private Argument
518 Words
It happened just after sunset.
Amelia had stepped away from the crowd, needing air, space—something to quiet the storm inside her. The garden path was dimly lit, quiet except for the soft crunch of gravel beneath her heels.
She didn’t hear Ethan approach until his voice cut through the stillness.
“You disappeared.”
She turned, folding her arms instinctively. “So did you.”
His brows knit together. “I was talking to your uncle.”
“And Veronica,” Amelia added before she could stop herself.
Ethan stilled. “That’s what this is about?”
She let out a short laugh. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
“I was being polite.”
“You were being charming,” she shot back. “There’s a difference.”
Silence fell between them, sharp and uncomfortable.
“You’re jealous,” he said quietly.
Her chin lifted. “I don’t have the right to be.”
“No,” he agreed. “You don’t.”
The words landed harder than she expected.
“Then why does it feel like you keep taking things you won’t let me have?” she demanded. “You kiss me. You hold me. You tell me you’re not going anywhere—and then you remind me there’s a wall I’m not allowed to touch.”
His jaw tightened. “Because if you touch it, everything breaks.”
“Or maybe,” she said softly, stepping closer, “you’re just afraid.”
That did it.
“You think I don’t know that?” he snapped, control slipping for the first time. “You think this is easy for me?”
“Then stop treating me like I’m fragile.”
“I’m not protecting you,” he said sharply. “I’m protecting us.”
“There is no ‘us’ if you won’t let me in.”
The words echoed between them.
Ethan dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping in front of her. His voice dropped, raw.
“You don’t understand what it would cost if I told you everything.”
“Then let me decide if it’s worth it.”
His eyes searched hers, conflicted, intense. For a moment, she thought he might finally say it—whatever it was.
Instead, he stepped back.
“I can’t,” he said.
Her chest ached. “Then this—” she gestured between them “—has to stop.”
He looked like she’d struck him.
“If that’s what you want,” he said quietly.
“It’s not,” she admitted, voice breaking. “But it’s what I need.”
They stood there, the space between them suddenly vast.
“I never meant to make you feel like this,” he said.
“I know,” she replied. “That’s what makes it worse.”
She turned and walked away before he could stop her, before she could change her mind.
Behind her, Ethan stayed where he was, staring after her—knowing that for the first time, pretending was no longer the hardest part.
It was the distance.
- Writer
