frankie wanted to have an answer for him. she wanted to be the kind of person who could stand in her doorway with tears on her face and a clean list of terms in her head, as if love could be negotiated back into place with enough promises. but the truth was, they didnβt know. she didnβt know what another chance was SUPPOSED to look like after months of forcing herself not to miss him, scraping herself off the bathroom floor, and pretending in front of sage that her voice wasnβt about to break every time his little face turned toward the door. wren was asking them what he could do, and frankie hated that all they could think was that they wanted him to UNDO it. undo the pictures. undo the night she saw them. undo the second their heart shattered so loudly they were surprised the whole apartment didnβt hear it.
βyou were the first person i let in after HIM,β she said, and her voice came out uneven, barely holding together. they didnβt have to say sageβs father for wren to know. the ghost of him had lived in the corners of their relationship from the beginning; in how frankie flinched from certain kinds of disappointment, in how measured every promise twice before believing it, and in how sheβd learned not to need anyone because needing people had only ever given them a better place to cut from. βi let you into my apartment. into MY KIDβS life. into all the parts of me i donβt just hand over to people.β their arms crossed over themself, fingers digging into their own sides as if they could hold themself in one piece by force. βand then i fell in love with you. i really fucking fell in love with you, wren.β
the sob rose before she could stop it. they turned their face away fast, trying to swallow it down, trying to muffle the sound behind their hand because sage was right there, because they were still his mother before they were anyoneβs RUINED ex. but trying to hold it in only made it worse. her shoulders shook once, then again, and the tears came harder, hot and humiliating and impossible to control. βi saw those photos and it was likeββ they couldnβt finish. there werenβt words for it that didnβt sound too small. it hadnβt been jealousy, not really. itβd been TERROR. itβd been every old lesson snapping awake at once, telling her sheβd been stupid to trust him, stupid to let him close, and stupid to believe a man could love her and not eventually make her regret it. βi donβt know what iβm supposed to do,β they choked out, pressing both hands over their mouth as another sob broke through. βi donβt know how to be mad enough to STOP loving you.β
for one suspended second, she just stood there trying to keep herself from falling apart in the hallway. then all at once, whatever thin wall they had left COLLAPSED. without hesitation, frankie crossed the space between them and lunged into him, burying her face into his chest as her arms wrapped tight around his middle. it was reckless. it was probably unfair. it answered nothing. but the second they felt him there, solid and familiar beneath their hands, the grief theyβd been carrying alone tore out of them in ragged, muffled sobs. βi donβt know what to DO,β she cried into his shirt, clinging to him even though she knew clinging wasnβt the same as forgiving. βi donβt know what to do, wren.β