"I hope he's worth it," he says finally, voice soft but bitter.

Something snaps inside me.

"That's the difference between you and Nate," I say, my voice shaking. "Nate would never ask me to stay. What you see is something to hold onto or fit into your life. I don't want to fit into anyone's life."

Jake flinches and without another word, I push back my chair and walk out, leaving him behind with his carefully constructed plans that never had room for who I really am.

The cool breeze hits my face, but it does little to cool the fire burning inside me. Because this isn't about choosing between brothers. This is about choosing myself, about acknowledging that love shouldn't feel like fitting yourself into someone else's puzzle.

This is about me.

My life, my choices, my future.

That's what I keep telling myself, and it's true—mostly. But deep down, I know that's not the whole story. Because even when Nate isn't here, even when he's broken my heart in ways I didn't think were possible, he's still the one who sees clearly enough to know that sometimes love means stepping aside so the other person can soar.

Staring at my packed bags, I feel the weight of every memory this room holds. The bare walls and empty drawers whisper of a life I'm leaving behind, but it doesn't ache the way I thought it would. Bones sits on my pillow, my childhood confidant, his fur worn velvet-soft from years of catching my tears and muffling my secrets. I trace my fingers over his floppy ears one last time, considering whether to take him with me. But with a soft smile—not sad, but knowing—I place him back where he belongs. Sometimes the bravest part of moving forward is choosing what to leave behind.

The discman catches my eye on my nightstand, Nate's letter safely tucked inside my journal. His words echo in my mind: You've always been the song I can't get out of my head.

For so long, I've been harmonizing with someone else's song, matching my rhythm to theirs. I think that's what Nate realized when he wrote his letter. In order for two people to find their way back to one another, to be good for one another, they first have to be good for themselves.

Love—real love—isn't about possession.

It's about freedom.

It's about understanding that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is choose yourself. If you can't show up for someone in the way they need—or if they can't love you the way you need to be loved—then the most honest thing you can do is let go. It's not easy, but nothing worth having ever is.