The weeks that followed were a slow but steady process of healing. Isabelle found herself getting used to the idea of having someone beside her, someone who didn't ask for anything more than her honesty. It was something she'd never had before—someone who simply wanted her to be herself, even when that self was messy, uncertain, and imperfect.
Evan didn't push her to confront the things she wasn't ready to face. He gave her space when she needed it and time when she wasn't sure what to do with herself. But every time they shared a moment, a quiet word, or a look, she felt a little more of the armor she had built around herself begin to crack.
Still, there were moments when Isabelle found herself paralyzed by fear. Fear of what might happen if she allowed herself to truly depend on someone, to let someone in. It was an old fear, one that had served as a shield for years, but with Evan, it didn't quite fit anymore. The walls she'd put up were starting to feel like a cage, trapping her in her own past.
It was a Tuesday evening when it happened.
They were having dinner at Evan's apartment, a quiet, intimate meal that had become a familiar routine for them. Isabelle had gotten used to the comfort of this space, the way it felt like a refuge from the world outside. But tonight, something felt different. She could sense Evan's gaze on her, could feel the weight of his attention, but he wasn't speaking. He was waiting for something, and she knew it.
She set her fork down, finally breaking the silence. "You're thinking about something," she said, her voice soft but steady. "What is it?"
Evan didn't immediately answer. Instead, he took a deep breath, as though gathering his thoughts. "I've been thinking about you," he said, his tone careful, as if he were testing the waters. "About your past. And I don't want to push you, but I think it's time we talked about it."
Isabelle's chest tightened. She had known this conversation was coming, had known that there was only so long she could keep running from her past before it caught up with her. But she wasn't ready. Not yet.
"I don't know if I'm ready," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "There's a lot I haven't told you, Evan. Things I've tried to forget, things I'm not proud of."
Evan didn't look away. His eyes stayed on hers, unwavering, his expression calm but serious. "I'm not asking for the whole story, Isabelle. Just… just the part you're willing to share. I don't want to pressure you. I just want you to know that I'm here, no matter what you decide to tell me."
Her breath caught in her throat. There was something in his voice—something that made her believe he truly meant it. It wasn't just about the words. It was about his actions, his patience, the way he had never pushed her, never made her feel like she had to be anything other than what she was.
For a moment, Isabelle hesitated. But then, the weight of it all—the years of silence, the lies she had told herself to keep going—pressed down on her. Maybe she didn't have to carry this alone anymore. Maybe it was time to let go of the past, piece by piece.
She took a deep breath and finally spoke, her voice shaky at first, but growing steadier as she went on.
"I grew up in a family that valued perfection above everything else," she began, her eyes fixed on her plate as though the words themselves were hard to say aloud. "There was always pressure to be the best, to meet every expectation. My father… he was the one who set the bar. And when I couldn't meet it, when I started to fall short, I felt like I wasn't good enough. So, I started hiding parts of myself. The parts that weren't perfect."
Evan stayed silent, letting her speak. He reached across the table, his hand resting gently on hers. She didn't pull away. Instead, she allowed herself to feel the warmth of his touch, grounding her in the moment.
"I thought if I kept pushing, if I kept pretending, I could prove to myself that I was worthy. But it only made things worse. I hurt people along the way, people I cared about. And eventually, I realized I couldn't keep going like that anymore. But by then, it was too late. I had already lost so much."
Isabelle's voice faltered for a moment, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop now. "I've been running from that person, Evan. From the mistakes I've made, from the things I said I could never take back. I thought if I buried it all deep enough, I could forget about it. But I can't. I can't forget."
The room was silent for a long time, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Evan's grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly, but he didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He was giving her space, giving her the chance to release the burden she had been carrying for so long.
Finally, when Isabelle's voice grew quiet again, he spoke.
"You don't have to carry all of that by yourself," he said softly, his voice low but filled with certainty. "You're not that person anymore. You're here now. And that's what matters."
For the first time in years, Isabelle felt a sense of peace. It wasn't the kind of peace that came from having everything figured out. But it was the kind that came from knowing she wasn't alone anymore. Evan wasn't going to judge her for her mistakes. He wasn't going to hold her past against her.
They sat in silence for a while longer, but it wasn't the heavy silence that had once suffocated her. It was a quiet understanding, a shared moment of vulnerability that somehow made everything feel a little lighter.