Never Enough to Stay
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My first non-Pazzi fic!! I’m lowkey nervous as fuck to post this lol. I hope you love it anyway! Lmk what you’d change please! Also, if you have any sad prompts send them my wayyyy. xx Elle
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The text came through at 2:47 AM.
Dom: I'm so sorry Jade
I stared at the words until they blurred, until the blue light from my phone screen burned into my retinas like a brand. My thumb hovered over the keyboard. I could type something back. I could beg. I could rage. I could ask her if she remembered what she'd promised me three weeks ago when I'd told her this exact thing would happen.
Instead, I set the phone face-down on my nightstand and pulled the covers over my head, even though I knew I wouldn't sleep. Even though I knew that the darkness behind my eyelids would just become a screen for every moment we'd shared, projected in high definition, on loop, until the sun came up and I had to figure out how to exist in a world where Dominique chose someone else.
Where Dominique chose Eyana.
Where Dominique didn't choose me.
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It started six months ago at Simone's birthday party. I wasn't even supposed to go. I'd been in one of my hermit phases, the kind where I convinced myself that solitude was safer than the possibility of disappointment. But Simone had guilt-tripped me with that particular brand of best-friend manipulation that was impossible to resist, so I'd shown up with a bottle of Moscato and a forced smile.
Dom was in the kitchen when I walked in.
I'd seen her around before – at the Black queer events that cycled through the city, at Pride, once at the farmer's market where she'd been buying peaches and I'd been buying flowers for my apartment that would die within a week because I could never remember to water them. But I'd never really seen her. Not like this. Not with the late afternoon sun streaming through Simone's kitchen window, catching the gold undertones in her dark skin. Not with her head thrown back in laughter at something Simone's girlfriend had said, the sound rich and full and unguarded.
She wore a black button-up with the sleeves rolled to her elbows, showing off the geometric tattoos that wrapped around her forearms. Her locs were pulled back into a ponytail, a few loose ones framing her face. She had the kind of presence that made you want to either run toward her or away from her, and I couldn't decide which impulse was stronger.
"Jade!" Simone grabbed my arm, pulling me into the kitchen. "You remember Dom, right? Dom, this is my best friend Jade. The one I've been telling you about."
Dom's eyes met mine, and something in my chest shifted. Her smile was slow, deliberate, like she was taking her time deciding what she thought of me.
"The writer," she said, and her voice was lower than I'd expected, textured like good whiskey. "Simone says you're working on a novel."
"Trying to," I said, suddenly self-conscious. "It's...a process."
"Everything worth doing is." She held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary, then extended her hand. "It's good to officially meet you, Jade."
When our palms touched, I felt it everywhere. A current. A recognition. The kind of connection that poets wrote about and everyone else dismissed as fiction.
I should have known then. Should have recognized the danger.
But I was so tired of being careful. So tired of protecting myself from possibilities. So I smiled back and let her hand linger in mine a moment too long, and I didn't think about consequences.
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We talked for three hours that night. Started in the kitchen, moved to the back porch, ended up sitting on the steps leading down to Simone's garden while the party continued without us. She told me about her work as a physical therapist, about the satisfaction of helping people reclaim their bodies after injury or illness. I told her about my day job at the nonprofit, about how I wrote in the margins of my life, early mornings before work, late nights when insomnia struck, stolen lunch breaks in coffee shops.
"Why the margins?" she asked. "Why not the center?"
"Because I'm scared," I said, surprising myself with the honesty. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the way she listened, like my words mattered. "Because if I put it in the center and it doesn't work out, then what do I have left?"
She nodded slowly, like she understood something about me that I hadn't said out loud. "I get that. Self-preservation. I do the same thing."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She picked at the label on her beer bottle. "I got out of something a few months ago. Relationship that lasted five years. Eyana. We were - it was everything, you know? Or I thought it was. But she wanted different things. Or maybe I did. I don't know. It ended badly. A lot of back and forth. A lot of 'maybe we can make it work' then a 'no, we definitely can't.' I'm still," She trailed off, shook her head. "I'm still figuring out how to be a person outside of us."
I should have heard the warning in those words. Should have recognized that she was still tangled up in someone else. But all I heard was the vulnerability, the rawness, and I wanted to reach out and touch it. Touch her.
"That sounds hard," I said softly.
"It is." She looked at me then, really looked at me, and I felt exposed in a way that should have been uncomfortable but wasn't. "But tonight's been good. Talking to you. It's been really good."
We exchanged numbers before I left. She texted me before I even made it home.
Thanks for tonight. I haven't talked like that in a while.
I saved her contact with a yellow heart emoji and told myself it didn't mean anything.
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We started slow. Coffee dates that turned into lunch dates that turned into dinner dates that we both pretended weren't dates. She'd text me good morning. I'd send her poems I thought she'd like. She'd show up at my apartment with takeout when I mentioned I'd had a long day. I'd proof-read her grad school applications because she was thinking about getting her doctorate.
It was easy. Effortless. The kind of connection that felt like coming home.
But there were signs. Small ones at first. The way she'd sometimes go quiet in the middle of a conversation, her eyes distant. The way she'd check her phone with a particular kind of intensity. The way she'd mention Eyana casually, like the name didn't carry weight, but I could hear the heaviness in her voice.
"We're trying to be friends," she told me one night over Thai food. "It's complicated, but we were together for five years. I can't just cut her out completely."
"I get that," I said, even though something in my stomach twisted.
"It's not like that," Dom said quickly, reading something in my face. "I'm not trying to get back with her. That's done. I just need to figure out how to have her in my life in a different way."
I nodded. Smiled. Changed the subject.
But I started noticing more. The way she'd sometimes cancel plans last minute. The way she'd be less responsive to texts on certain days. The way she'd mention running into Eyana, or having coffee with Eyana, or helping Eyana move some furniture.
I told myself it was fine. We weren't official. We were just...whatever this was.
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The first time she kissed me, we were in my apartment. I'd cooked dinner – fried chicken, rice, peas and rice, greens – and she'd brought wine. We'd eaten on my couch because my dining table was covered in manuscript pages and research books. She'd asked about my novel, and I'd actually told her. Really told her. About the characters who lived in my head, about the story I was trying to tell about Black women and love and survival and joy.
"I want to read it," she said. "When you're ready. I want to read everything you write."
"It's not good yet," I protested. "It's still so rough–"
"Jade." She set down her wine glass and turned to face me fully. "Stop doing that. Stop diminishing yourself. Your work matters. Your voice matters. You matter."
Something in my chest cracked open. I'd spent so long making myself small, convincing myself that my dreams were too big, that I wasn't talented enough, wasn't disciplined enough, wasn't enough period. And here was this woman, looking at me like I was already everything I was trying to become.
"Dom–"
She kissed me before I could finish the sentence. Her hand cupped my face, thumb stroking my cheek, and her lips were soft and sure and tasted like the wine we'd been drinking. I made a sound in the back of my throat, surprise or relief or desire, I couldn't tell, and she deepened the kiss, her other hand finding my waist, pulling me closer.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, she pressed her forehead to mine.
"I've wanted to do that for weeks," she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes searching mine. "Is this okay? Are we okay?"
I should have asked about Eyana. Should have asked if she was really over her ex, really ready for something new. Should have protected myself.
But her hands were still on me, and I could still taste her on my lips, and I was so tired of being afraid.
"We're okay," I said, and kissed her again.
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The next three months were the happiest of my life.
Dom was attentive in ways I'd never experienced. She remembered everything I told her – the name of my favorite childhood book, the fact that I loved lilies, that I was allergic to shellfish, that I wrote best in the early morning when the world was still quiet. She'd show up with coffee and pastries at 6 AM, let herself in with the key I'd given her, and kiss me awake before settling at my kitchen table to do her own work while I wrote.
She'd read my pages and give me feedback that was thoughtful and encouraging. She'd massage my shoulders when I got tense from hunching over my laptop. She'd pull me away from my desk when I'd been working too long and make me eat, make me rest, make me remember that I was a body as well as a mind.
We'd spend weekends tangled in my sheets, learning each other's bodies with a kind of reverence that made me believe in sacred things. She'd trace the stretch marks on my hips and thighs and tell me I was beautiful. I'd oil her locs and she'd fall asleep with her head in my lap while I watched her face, peaceful and unguarded, and felt something dangerous bloom in my chest.
Love.
I was falling in love with her.
Maybe I'd been falling since that first night at Simone's party. Maybe I'd been falling since the first time she looked at me like I mattered.
But I didn't say it. Because there were still signs. Still moments when she'd pull away, go quiet, check her phone with that particular intensity. Still mentions of Eyana that came too frequently, too casually.
"I saw Eyana yesterday," she'd say. "We got coffee."
"How is she?" I'd ask, keeping my voice neutral.
"She's good. She asked about you, actually."
"What did you tell her?"
"That you're amazing." Dom would pull me close, kiss my temple. "Because you are."
And I'd let it go. Because when she held me, I could almost believe that I was enough. That whatever she still felt for Eyana was just residual, just the ghost of something that used to be.
I should have known better.
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The conversation I'd been dreading came on a Tuesday night. We were at her place, a one-bedroom apartment in a converted warehouse with exposed brick and high ceilings. She'd made dinner, and we'd eaten while watching some documentary about ocean life. It should have been perfect. Easy. Normal.
But I could feel her tension. Could see it in the set of her shoulders, the way she kept glancing at me and then away.
"What's wrong?" I finally asked, muting the TV.
She was quiet for a long moment. Then, "Eyana wants to try again."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I set down my wine glass carefully, afraid I'd drop it otherwise.
"Try again," I repeated. "As in..."
"As in get back together. She says she's been thinking about us, about what went wrong, and she thinks we can fix it. She wants to fix it."
"And what do you want?"
Dom ran a hand over her face. "I don't know. I thought I was over it. Over her. But then she said all these things, and I just – I don't know, Jade."
I felt something inside me start to crack. "What about us?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out." She reached for my hand, but I pulled away. "Jade, please. I care about you. So much. You have to know that."
"But not enough."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" I stood up, needing distance, needing air. "You're sitting here telling me your ex wants you back and you don't know what you want. That sounds like I'm not enough to you."
"It's not that simple–"
"It is that simple, Dom." I turned to face her, and I could feel tears burning behind my eyes but I refused to let them fall. Not yet. "Either you want to be with me or you don't. Either I'm enough or I'm not."
"I'm not trying to hurt you."
"But you are." My voice cracked. "You are hurting me."
She stood, moved toward me, but I held up a hand to stop her. If she touched me, I'd break. If she touched me, I'd forgive her before she'd even done anything that needed forgiving.
"I need time," she said. "To figure this out. To figure out what I want."
"And what am I supposed to do while you're figuring it out? Just wait around hoping you'll choose me?"
"I don't know." She looked miserable, and part of me wanted to comfort her, wanted to tell her it was okay, wanted to make this easier for her. But I was so tired of making things easier for people who were breaking my heart. "I don't want to lose you, Jade. But I also can't just ignore what I still feel for Eyana."
There it was. The truth I'd been avoiding. She still loved her ex. Maybe she'd never stopped.
"I should go," I said quietly.
"Jade–"
"I need to go, Dom. I can't, I can't do this right now."
I grabbed my bag and my keys and walked out of her apartment. She didn't try to stop me. I made it to my car before the tears came, and then I sat in the parking lot and sobbed until my throat was raw and my eyes were swollen and I felt hollowed out, emptied of everything except pain.
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She gave me three days of silence. Three days where I jumped every time my phone buzzed, hoping it was her, hoping she'd realized that I was what she wanted, that we were what she wanted.
On the fourth day, she texted.
Dommy 💛: Can we talk?
We met at the park near my apartment. It was late afternoon, the sun starting its descent, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. She was already there when I arrived, sitting on a bench near the pond, and when she saw me, she stood.
"Hey," she said softly.
"Hey."
We sat. The silence stretched between us, heavy with everything unsaid.
"I've been thinking," she finally said. "About us. About Eyana. About what I want."
My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. "And?"
"I don't want to lose you." She turned to look at me, and her eyes were red-rimmed, like she'd been crying too. "These past few months with you have been – Jade, you make me feel seen in a way I've never felt before. You make me want to be better. You make me believe I can be better."
"But?"
"But I also can't ignore what I still feel for Eyana. We have history. Five years of history. And I think I need to see if we can make it work. If I don't try, I'll always wonder."
There it was. The rejection wrapped in pretty words.
"So you're choosing her," I said flatly.
"I'm not choosing–"
"Yes, you are." I stood, needing to move, needing to do something with the energy that was crackling through my body like electricity. "You're choosing to try with her, which means you're choosing not to try with me. That's how this works, Dom."
"It's not that black and white."
"It is to me." I turned to face her. "You know what the fucked up part is? I knew this would happen. I told you I was scared of this exact thing, and you told me you wouldn't do this. You said you were done with her. You said you wanted to move forward, not backward."
"I know." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I know I said that."
"So what changed?"
"I don't know. She just – when she said she wanted to try again, all these feelings came back. All these memories. And I realized I'm not as over it as I thought I was. She deserved a chance to fix it – we deserve that chance."
I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You know what's really fucked up? I can feel you pulling away even now. Even as you're sitting here telling me you don't want to lose me, I can feel you already gone."
She didn't deny it.
"I should have protected myself," I said, more to myself than to her. "I should have kept my walls up. But you made me feel safe. You made me believe that maybe, just maybe, I could let someone in and not get destroyed."
"Jade–"
"I told you I'd probably regret it. Do you remember that? That night after we first slept together, when you asked me what I was thinking, and I said I was scared I'd regret letting you in. And you said I wouldn't. You said you'd never give me a reason to regret it."
"I remember."
"You lied."
"I didn't mean to."
"That doesn't make it hurt less!" I wiped at my eyes, angry at the tears that wouldn't stop falling. "You're doing every single thing you said you wouldn't do. You're choosing her. You're leaving me to pick up the pieces alone. You're making me regret ever letting you in."
"I'm sorry." She stood, moved toward me, and this time I didn't stop her when she pulled me into her arms. I let myself have this one last moment. Let myself breathe in the scent of her – cocoa butter and the oil she used on her locs and something uniquely her. Let myself feel her heartbeat against my cheek. Let myself pretend, just for a second, that this wasn't ending. "I'm so sorry, Jade. I never wanted to hurt you."
"But you are," I whimpered into her chest. "You're hurting me so much."
"I know. And I'll make it right. I promise. I'll apologize and send flowers and gifts until you forgive me. I'll do whatever it takes."
I pulled back, looked up at her. "You can't fix this with flowers, Dom."
"I know. But I have to try. Because I can't lose you completely. Even if we can't be – even if we're not together, I need you in my life."
"That's not fair to ask of me."
"I know." She cupped my face, wiped away my tears with her thumbs. "I know I'm being selfish. I know I'm asking too much. But I'm asking anyway."
She kissed me then. Soft and sweet and devastating. A goodbye kiss. And I kissed her back because I was weak, because I loved her, because some part of me still hoped that maybe she'd change her mind, maybe she'd realize that I was enough, that we were enough.
When we pulled apart, she pressed her forehead to mine.
"I love you," she whispered. "I need you to know that. I do love you."
"Just not enough," I said.
She didn't deny it.
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The next few weeks were a special kind of torture. Dom tried to keep in touch – texts checking in on me, calls that I mostly let go to voicemail, invitations to coffee that I declined. She was trying to maintain our friendship, trying to keep me in her life while she pursued Eyana.
And I let her. Because I was pathetic. Because I was hoping. Because some masochistic part of me needed to stay connected to her, even if it was killing me.
Simone told me I was being stupid.
"Cut her off," she said over brunch one Sunday. "Block her number. Delete her from social media. You're just torturing yourself."
"I can't," I said, pushing eggs around my plate. "I can't just turn it off."
"You're in love with her."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Yeah."
"And she's with Eyana now."
"Yeah." My voice cracked.
"So what are you waiting for? For her to realize she made a mistake? For her to come back to you?"
"Maybe." I set down my fork. "Is that so wrong?"
"It's not wrong, babe. It's hurting you. I can see it. You've lost weight. You're not sleeping. You're barely writing. This is destroying you."
"I know."
"So do something about it."
But I didn't. Because I couldn't. Because every time I thought about cutting Dom out of my life completely, I felt like I couldn't breathe. She'd become essential to me. Necessary. And I didn't know how to exist without her.
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Two months after Dom chose Eyana, she called me at midnight. I was awake, because I was always awake these days, staring at my laptop screen and the blank document that mocked me. I'd barely written anything since we ended. The words had dried up, leaving me empty.
"Jade?" Her voice was rough, like she'd been crying.
"What's wrong?"
"Can I come over?"
I should have said no. Should have protected myself. Should have maintained the boundaries I'd been trying so hard to establish.
"Yeah," I said. "Come over."
She was at my door twenty minutes later. Her eyes were red, her face blotchy, and she looked like she hadn't slept in days. I let her in without a word, and she collapsed onto my couch, head in her hands.
"What happened?" I asked, sitting beside her but maintaining distance.
"We had a fight. Eyana and me. A bad one."
Something ugly twisted in my chest. Hope, maybe. Or vindication. "About what?"
"About you."
I went still. "Me?"
"She says I'm not over you. That I talk about you too much, think about you too much. She says," Dom looked up at me, and her eyes were devastated. "She says she can tell I'm not fully present with her. That part of me is still with you."
"Is she right?"
"I don't know." She ran her hands over her face. "Maybe. Probably. I just – I miss you, baby. I miss talking to you. I miss the way you'd read me your pages and ask for feedback. I miss waking up with you. I miss the way you'd look at me like I was, like I was everything."
"Dom–"
"I know I don't have the right to miss you. I know I'm the one who chose this. But I can't help it. You're in my head all the time. Even when I'm with her, I'm thinking about you. When we – when we're intimate, I hear your voice. I remember the way you'd say my name. And I feel guilty, because I'm supposed to be present with her, supposed to be all in, but I can't stop thinking about you."
I didn't know what to say. Part of me was elated – she missed me, she thought about me, she wasn't over me. But another part, the part that was trying to heal, was angry. Because she didn't get to do this. Didn't get to come to me for comfort while she was with someone else. Didn't get to make me hope again.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked quietly.
"Because I need you to know. Because I need you to understand that choosing Eyana doesn't mean I don't care about you. Doesn't mean what we had wasn't real."
"But it does mean you don't care about me enough." I stood, needing distance. "You can't do this, Dom. You can't come here and tell me you miss me and think about me while you're fucking your girlfriend. That's not fair."
"I know–"
"No, I don't think you do." I turned to face her, and I could feel something breaking inside me, something that had been holding on by a thread. "You don't get to have both of us. You don't get to keep me on the hook while you try to make it work with her. You made your choice. You chose her. So you need to let me go."
"I can't."
"You have to." Tears were streaming down my face now, and I didn't bother to wipe them away. "Because I can't keep doing this. I can't keep hoping that you'll realize you made a mistake. I can't keep waiting for you to choose me. It's killing me, Dom. Loving you is killing me."
She stood, moved toward me. "Jade–"
"Please go." My voice broke. "Please just go."
"I don't want to leave you like this."
"You already left me. This is just you finally accepting it."
She looked at me for a long moment, and I could see the war happening behind her eyes. The part of her that wanted to stay, to comfort me, to fix this. And the part of her that knew she couldn't. That knew she'd already made her choice.
Finally, she nodded. Grabbed her jacket. Moved toward the door.
"I'm sorry," she said one more time. "For what it's worth, I'm so sorry."
"It's not worth much," I said. "But I appreciate it anyway."
She left. And I stood in my living room, in the apartment where we'd spent so many nights together, where she'd kissed me awake and read my pages and made me believe in love again, and I felt something inside me shatter completely.
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The weeks that followed were a blur. I went through the motions – work, home, sleep when I could, which wasn't often. I stopped answering Simone's calls. Stopped going to the queer events where I might run into Dom. Stopped writing entirely, because every time I tried, all that came out was pain.
I'd see Dom's posts on social media – her and Eyana at brunch, at the movies, at Pride. They looked happy. In love. Like they'd never broken up, like Dom had never spent three months with me, like I'd never existed.
I should have unfollowed her. Blocked her. But I couldn't stop looking. Couldn't stop torturing myself with evidence of her happiness, her choice, her love for someone who wasn't me.
I started having thoughts. Dark thoughts. Thoughts about how much easier it would be if I just wasn't here anymore. If I didn't have to feel this pain, this rejection, this fundamental wrongness of being not enough.
I'd drive home from work and think about how easy it would be to just turn the wheel. To aim for a pole or a wall or oncoming traffic. To end it quickly, cleanly. To stop hurting.
I didn't tell anyone. Didn't reach out for help. Because what would I say? That I was suicidal over a breakup? That I wanted to die because a woman chose someone else? It sounded dramatic. Pathetic. Like I was weak.
But it wasn't just about Dom. It was about everything she represented. The hope that I could be loved. The belief that I was enough. The dream of a future that included partnership and family and the kind of love that was steady and sure and forever.
She'd taken all of that with her when she left. And I didn't know how to get it back.
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A month later, I was driving home from work when my phone rang. Dom's name flashed on the screen. I'd stopped answering her calls weeks ago, but something made me pick up this time.
"Hello?"
"Jade." Her voice was thick, emotional. "I need to see you."
"Dom–"
"Please. I know I don't have the right to ask. But please. I need to talk to you."
Against my better judgment, I agreed. We met at the same park where she'd told me she was leaving me. Some kind of poetic symmetry, I guessed.
She was already there when I arrived, and when she saw me, she stood. She looked different. Tired. Older somehow.
"Thanks for coming," she said.
"What do you want, Dom?"
"I broke up with Eyana."
The words hung in the air between us. I waited for the surge of hope, the relief, the joy. But all I felt was tired.
"Okay," I said.
"Okay? That's all you have to say?"
"What do you want me to say? Congratulations? I'm sorry? I don't know what you're looking for here."
"I'm looking for," She ran her hand over her face. "I made a mistake, Jade. Choosing her. Leaving you. It was a mistake."
"And you're just realizing this now? After three months?"
"I realized it before. But I was trying to make it work. Trying to honor my choice. But I couldn't stop thinking about you. Couldn't stop missing you. And Eyana could tell. She said I was never fully present, that I was always somewhere else. And she was right. I was always with you. In my head, in my heart. I was always with you."
"That's not fair to her."
"I know. That's why I ended it. Because it wasn't fair to keep trying when my heart wasn't in it."
"And now what? You think you can just come back to me? Think I'll just take you back because you realized you made a mistake?"
"I'm hoping." She moved closer, and I could see the desperation in her eyes. "I'm hoping you'll give me another chance. Let me prove that I choose you. That I want you. That I love you."
"You love me."
"Yes."
"But you loved Eyana too."
"I did. Maybe I still do, in some way. But not like I love you. Not with the same intensity. The same certainty. With you, I feel like I'm home. With her, I felt like I was trying to recreate something that was already gone."
I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe her so badly. Wanted to fall into her arms and let her kiss away the past three months. Wanted to pretend that her choosing me now erased the fact that she'd chosen someone else first.
But I couldn't.
"I can't do this," I said quietly.
"Jade–"
"You broke me, Dom. You took my heart and you broke it into pieces, and I've been trying to put it back together for three months. And now you want me to just hand it back to you? Trust you with it again?"
"I know I hurt you–"
"You destroyed me!" My voice was rising, all the pain and anger I'd been holding in finally breaking free. "You made me believe in love again. Made me believe I was worthy of it. And then you chose someone else. You looked at me and her and you decided she was worth more. That she was more important. That she was enough and I wasn't."
"That's not–"
"That's exactly what you did." Tears were streaming down my face. "And you know what the worst part is? I still love you. After everything, I still fucking love you. And I hate myself for it. I hate that I'm weak enough to still want you. Hate that part of me wants to say yes, wants to give you another chance, wants to believe that this time will be different."
"So say yes." She grabbed my hands, held them tight. "Say yes and let me prove it to you. Let me show you that I choose you. That I'll keep choosing you."
"Until when? Until Eyana wants you back again? Until someone else comes along who you have history with?"
"That won't happen–"
"You don't know that. You thought you were over her. You promised me you were done with her. And then the second she wanted you back, you left me. What's to stop that from happening again?"
"Because I know now. I know what I want. I know who I want."
"You're three months too late."
I pulled my hands from hers and stepped back. She looked devastated, and part of me wanted to comfort her. But I was so tired of putting her feelings before my own. So tired of making myself smaller to make room for her uncertainty.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry I can't be what you need right now. But I have to protect myself. I have to choose me, since you didn't."
"Jade, please–"
"Goodbye, Dom."
I walked away. Got in my car. Drove home. And I didn't let myself cry until I was safely inside my apartment, door locked, alone with my pain.
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That night, I let myself imagine it. The life we'd talked about. The life I'd wanted so desperately.
I pictured waking up to Dom's kisses, her lips soft against my forehead, my cheeks, my mouth. Pictured her getting ready for work while I made her lunch – steak with caramelized onions on garlic focaccia, apple slices, celery sticks, a cookie from the batch I'd baked the night before.
I pictured our oldest daughter, Kaia, running into the kitchen with a drawing she'd made. "Mama! Look what I drew for Mommy," she'd say, and I'd look at the crayon masterpiece – our family, stick figures holding hands under a rainbow. I'd fold it carefully and tuck it into Dom's lunchbox, imagining her face when she found it.
I pictured baking Dom's favorite strawberry chocolate bread, the one she'd showed me on Instagram a couple nights before. Pictured the smell filling our kitchen, warm and sweet and like home.
I pictured Dom coming home from work, tired but smiling. Pictured our kids – all five of them, our basketball team – running to greet her. "Mommy! Mommy!" Pictured her scooping up the youngest, kissing the others, making her way to me in the kitchen.
She'd wrap her arms around me from behind, press a kiss to my neck. I'd lean back into her, breathe in the scent of her – the oil I'd used on her locs two days ago, still lingering. She'd hold me tight, and I'd feel safe. Loved. Chosen.
"I love you," she'd whisper into my ear. "You were the best choice I've ever made."
And I'd turn in her arms, kiss her properly, and whisper back, "I love you too."
It was so vivid. So real. I could feel her arms around me. Could smell the strawberry bread baking. Could hear our children's laughter echoing through our home.
And then I opened my eyes.
I was alone in my apartment. There was no Dom. No children. No Brooklyn brownstone with beautiful trim and a dark and moody library. No home filled with love and laughter. There was just me, sitting on my couch in the dark, imagining a life that would never exist.
Because Dom didn't choose me.
Because Dom didn't love me enough.
Because I wasn't enough to be loved first.
The thought hit me like a physical blow, and I felt something inside me break completely. Not the sharp break of earlier heartbreaks, but something deeper. Something fundamental. The part of me that believed I was worthy of love. The part that believed I deserved happiness. The part that believed I had value.
It was gone.
And without it, I didn't know how to keep going. Didn't know how to keep waking up every day and pretending that I was okay. Didn't know how to keep existing in a world where I was fundamentally, irreparably not enough.
I thought about my car. About the drive home from work. About how easy it would be to just turn the wheel. To drive into that wall right by my neighborhood. To end this pain that felt like it was consuming me from the inside out.
I thought about how no one would really miss me. Simone would be sad, but she'd move on. My coworkers would send flowers to my funeral and forget about me within a week. My family – well, my mom would be devastated. My sisters would sob, but eventually, they'd move on. Someone would have another baby, and that would replace the missing piece I created.
And Dom? Dom would feel guilty, maybe. Would blame herself. But she'd have Eyana to comfort her. Or she'd find someone new. Someone better. Someone enough.
I picked up my phone. Stared at the screen. I could call someone. Could reach out for help. Could tell someone about these thoughts that were getting darker and more insistent.
But what would I say? That I wanted to die because I wasn't chosen? That I wanted to end my life because I wasn't enough?
It sounded so stupid. So dramatic. So weak.
But it didn't feel stupid. It felt like the only logical conclusion to a life spent being not enough. Not enough for my parents, who'd always made it clear they'd wanted a son. Not enough for the girls I'd dated before Dom, who'd always found someone better. Not enough for Dom, who'd looked at me and Eyana and chosen Eyana.
Not enough. Not enough. Not enough.
The words echoed in my head like a mantra, like a truth I'd been trying to deny but could no longer escape.
I set down my phone. Picked up my keys. Looked at them for a long moment.
I could do it tonight. Could get in my car and drive and just not stop. Could aim for the concrete barrier on the interstate. Could make it look like an accident. Could spare everyone the guilt and the questions and the knowledge that I'd chosen this.
Or.
Or I could keep trying. Could keep waking up every day and putting one foot in front of the other. Could keep hoping that maybe, someday, I'd find someone who loved me the way I wanted to be loved. Who chose me first. Who thought I was enough.
Could keep believing that I was worthy of that love, even when everything in me screamed that I wasn't.
I sat there in the dark, keys in my hand, and I tried to decide.
Tried to decide if I had the strength to keep going.
Tried to decide if I wanted to.
The answer didn't come. Just the silence of my empty apartment and the weight of my own loneliness and the echo of Dom's voice in my head, saying she loved me but not enough, never enough.
I closed my eyes.
And I tried to decide.
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I've never felt so loved, felt so alone, felt so low.
Labrinth and Billie's voices played in my head, and I realized it was true. Dom had made me feel more loved than I'd ever felt in my life. And now, without her, I felt more alone than I'd ever felt. Lower than I'd ever been.
The keys were still in my hand.
The choice was still mine to make.
And I didn't know which way I'd choose.
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I hope it was okay! I’m probably gonna use the Pazzi fic tag for a while, just to give it more exposure. I won’t be flooding the tags though!!!
