Emily is distant, more withdrawn than usual. The case they’ve been working on has been especially difficult, but that’s not all of it. She hasn’t opened up about what’s bothering her, and the longer she stays silent, the more you start to feel the weight of her distance.

Finally, the silence breaks. You’ve had enough of Emily shutting you out, of being kept at arm’s length while she pushes forward with her stoic, "I’m fine" routine. You ask her—gently at first—what’s going on, but when she brushes you off yet again, your frustration spills over.

"Emily, I can’t keep doing this," you say, voice sharp with the tension that’s been building for weeks. "You shut me out every time something gets hard, and it’s like you don’t even trust me to be there for you. What’s the point of being together if you can’t let me in?"

Emily’s face hardens, and for a moment, she looks like she’s about to snap back, but instead, she looks away, struggling to keep her emotions in check. "You don’t understand," she mutters, barely audible. "I can’t put that on you. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve… me."

The words hit hard, and you feel the sting of them. "So now you’re pushing me away because you think I can’t handle it? Because you think I’m not strong enough for you? Is that it, Emily?"

The air between you both grows thick with the weight of unspoken fears. Emily’s eyes flash with something darker—regret, guilt, fear—but she’s not ready to admit it. Not yet. "I’m not asking for you to handle anything," she says, voice cracking. "I’m asking you to let me handle this on my own. I have to do it alone."

You step closer, voice softer now, but laced with pain. "And what happens when you do it alone? What happens when you keep running from me, from us? Because I can’t keep chasing you, Emily."

There’s a long silence. Emily’s chest rises and falls with her shallow breaths, and for the first time, you can see just how much she’s struggling to keep it together. Her walls are cracking, but she’s terrified to let anyone in.