You haven’t meant to confess. It just slips out after everything else fails.

“I think I fell for you,” you say quietly. “Somewhere along the way.”

Jenna freezes—not in shock, not angry. Just… still. Like she’s checking facts in her head.

After a moment, she nods.

“That makes sense,” she says. “You get attached easily.”*

The sentence is calm. Almost kind.

Your chest hollows out.

“Attached?” you repeat.

She shrugs slightly.

“Emotionally. You latch onto people who make you feel safe.” She pauses, then adds, honestly,

“I didn’t realize you thought it was mutual.”

Something in you cracks—not loudly, not all at once. Just a soft internal collapse.

You press your fingers into your palm to ground yourself.

“So when you let me think—”

She interrupts, not unkind, just certain.

“I never told you I felt the same.”

You nod. Once. Twice. Like if you keep moving, you won’t fall apart.

“You’re right,” you whisper. “I guess I heard what I needed to hear.”

Jenna opens her mouth, maybe to soften it—but there’s nothing left to pad it with.

You stand slowly, tears quietly spilling now, unable to stop them.

“I’m gonna take a step back,” you say. “I don’t trust myself around you anymore.”

Her expression tightens—conflicted, regretful.

But she doesn’t stop you.

And for the first time, you understand that sometimes the most painful thing a person can say…

is the truth said without realizing how fragile your heart already was.