Graham sat alone in the studio, the hum of the equipment filling the silence. His guitar rested on his knee, untouched, as Karen’s words replayed in his mind.

“I’m pregnant,” she had said, her voice calm but unwavering. Then came the part that broke him: “But I don’t want to keep it.”

He stared at the empty chair across from him, imagining her there, her blonde hair falling over her face. Karen had always been sure of her choices, her life. It was something he loved about her, but now it was the very thing that was destroying him.

Graham clenched his jaw, gripping the guitar tighter. He had always dreamed of being a father—a home filled with laughter, tiny feet running around, late nights cradling a baby. But now that dream was slipping away.

“She doesn’t want this,” he thought bitterly. “It’s not that she doesn’t love me; she just loves her freedom more.”

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, trying to hold back the anger and heartbreak swirling inside him. “Why does she get to decide this alone?” he whispered. But deep down, he knew why. Karen was independent, always in control of her life.

“I’d be a good dad,” he muttered, his voice breaking. His fingers pressed into the strings, strumming a single chord—dissonant and raw, much like his emotions.

He closed his eyes, thinking of the future he’d imagined. The child they’d never have. The family they’d never be. He wanted to beg her to change her mind, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t force her into something she didn’t want.

“I love her,” he whispered. “But why does loving her have to hurt this much?”

He saw the choice in front of him: hold on to his dream or let her go. Tears welled in his eyes as the realization hit him—loving Karen meant respecting her choice, even if it broke him.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Graham whispered, “I’ll let it go.”

The melancholic echo of his guitar filled the room. For the first time, he allowed himself to grieve—not just for the child they wouldn’t have, but for the version of himself he had to let go.