The Life we never Planned

Chapter 80

CHAPTER 80

DAMIAN

We finished the last hole just before sunset.

Angela was still laughing about my terrible attempt at helping her improve her swing.

“You made me worse,” she said.

“I improved your technique.”

“You ruined it.”

“You're welcome.”

She shook her head, smiling as we walked back toward the clubhouse.

I should have been in a good mood.

I was.

Until she spoke again.

“I think when my company becomes stable, I'll probably travel more.”

I looked at her.

“Travel?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“I don't know yet. Maybe different countries. I want to see places I've never been.”

“That sounds good.”

She nodded.

“And eventually, I think I'd like to live somewhere completely different.”

I slowed slightly.

“Different?”

“Maybe.”

She looked at the sunset.

“I don't think I'll stay in one place forever.”

Something inside me shifted.

I knew she wasn't saying anything wrong.

She was talking about her life.

Her dreams.

Her independence.

But my mind went somewhere else.

She doesn't see herself staying.

Not with me.

Not here.

Not forever.

I forced a smile.

“Sounds like you've planned everything.”

“Not everything.”

She laughed.

“I just don't want my life to become predictable.”

I nodded.

“Right.”

She glanced at me.

“You're quiet.”

“I'm not.”

“You are.”

“I'm fine.”

She studied my face.

I looked away and picked up my golf bag.

A few minutes earlier, I'd been imagining children running through a house with her.

Now I was wondering whether she'd eventually pack a suitcase and leave.

It was ridiculous.

I knew that.

She hadn't said she was leaving me.

She hadn't even mentioned our relationship.

But somehow, one sentence had managed to get under my skin.

We reached the car.

I opened her door.

“Thank you.”

I nodded.

She got in.

I walked around to the driver's side.

The drive was quiet.

Usually, Angela would point out something outside the window or tease me about something I'd said.

This time, she didn't.

Neither did I.

After several minutes, she turned toward me.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

She frowned slightly.

“You've been quiet since we left.”

“I'm just tired.”

“You weren't tired five minutes ago.”

“I know.”

She watched me for another moment.

“Did I say something?”

“No.”

“Then why did your mood change?”

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.

“It didn't.”

“Damian.”

I glanced at her.

“What?”

“You're lying.”

I almost smiled.

She wasn't accusing me angrily.

She was simply stating what she had noticed.

I looked back at the road.

“It's nothing.”

She didn't argue.

That somehow made it worse.

A few minutes passed.

Then she said quietly,

“If I said something that bothered you, you can tell me.”

I swallowed.

“You didn't.”

“Then what is it?”

I didn't answer immediately.

Because the truth sounded stupid.

I was bothered because she'd talked about leaving.

Not leaving me.

Just leaving.

But my mind had already connected the two.

I had spent months watching Angela build her own life.

Her own company.

Her own office.

Her own future.

I had admired every part of it.

Now, for the first time, I wondered if all that independence meant there would eventually be no place for me in it.

I hated the thought.

Especially because I had no right to be angry about it.

So I said the only thing I could.

“Nothing.”

She looked at me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then she turned toward the window.

“Okay.”

That one word somehow made my chest tighter.

When we reached her apartment, I pulled over.

She unfastened her seat belt but didn't immediately open the door.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

She looked at me again.

“You're sure you're okay?”

“Yes.”

She nodded.

“Okay.”

She stepped out.

I watched her walk toward the building.

She turned once and gave me a small wave before disappearing inside.

I waited until the door closed.

Then I leaned back against the seat.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I had spent the entire afternoon talking about having children with her.

About a home.

About a future.

And one harmless comment had made me wonder whether she was already planning a life without me.

I closed my eyes.

I knew Angela.

She wouldn't make promises she wasn't sure about.

She valued her freedom.

She wanted her own life.

And I loved that about her.

But that didn't stop the fear.

For the first time, I understood something I hadn't wanted to admit.

I was afraid she would leave.

Not because she had given me a reason.

Because I wanted her badly enough for the possibility to scare me.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Angela.

You really were quiet.

I stared at it.

Another message appeared.

Goodnight, Damian.

I smiled despite myself.

Then I typed:

Goodnight, trouble.

I almost put the phone down.

Instead, I stared at the screen.

I wanted to ask her if she saw a future with me.

I wanted to know if the children we'd talked about could ever be ours.

I wanted reassurance.

But I knew Angela.

If I asked her for something she wasn't ready to give, she would pull away.

So I locked my phone.

And kept the question to myself.

For now.