Echoes

Chapter 16

"So, are you willing to see this through with me and see where it takes us?" Emily asked, her voice soft but uncertain.

Sean hesitated, his gaze dropping. "I'll never leave you alone again," he replied, but the words sounded hollow, like a promise he wasn't sure he could keep.

Emily noticed the shift in his demeanor. "Sean... what's going on?" she asked cautiously.

He sighed, his expression hardening. "There's something you need to know. Something I've been avoiding."

Emily's heart pounded as she waited for him to continue.

"Thirteen months before we met, my daughter died," he said bluntly, the words cutting through the air like a knife. "She had leukemia. We lived here, in Stockton, while she went through chemo. It was a slow, agonizing process, watching her waste away day by day."

Emily's eyes widened, but she stayed silent, sensing the storm brewing inside him.

"I tried to keep it together for her, for my wife, but I couldn't," he continued, his voice growing rough. "When she died, something inside me snapped. My wife left me because I was too broken to be there for her. She couldn't stand to look at me anymore because I reminded her of everything we lost."

Sean's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. "You think you know me, Emily? You think I'm this stable, dependable guy who's got his shit together? I'm not. I'm a wreck—a goddamn wreck. I wake up every day wishing I hadn't. I can't sleep without seeing her face, without hearing her voice, and it's killing me."

Emily took a step back, startled by the intensity in his voice. "Sean, I—"

"I'm not your hero, Emily," he snapped, cutting her off. "I'm not some knight in shining armor who's going to sweep in and save the day. I can barely save myself. Hell, I don't even want to. Half the time, I'm just going through the motions, pretending I'm okay when I'm anything but."

He turned away, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "You have no idea what it's like, the guilt, the anger. I failed my daughter, and I failed my wife. And I'm terrified that I'll fail you too."

Emily's breath caught in her throat. The man standing in front of her was a stranger—a man consumed by pain and self-loathing. She'd never seen this side of him, and it scared her.

"I don't know if I can do this, Emily," he said, his voice breaking. "I don't know if I can be what you need me to be."

She wanted to comfort him, to say something that would make it better, but the words wouldn't come. For the first time, she wasn't sure if love would be enough to pull him out of the darkness he was drowning in.

Sean looked at her, his eyes haunted. "Maybe you should walk away now, before I drag you down with me."

Emily's heart ached for him, but there was a flicker of fear, too—a fear that maybe he was right. Maybe she didn't really know the man she thought she loved. Maybe he was too far gone.

She reached out to touch his arm, but he pulled away, retreating further into himself. "Sean..."

"Just go, Emily," he said quietly, his back turned to her. "I need to be alone right now."

She hesitated, her mind a swirl of emotions, before finally nodding. "Okay," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'll give you space."

As she left the room, the weight of the conversation settled heavily on her shoulders. The man she thought she knew had just shown her a glimpse of his demons, and they were darker than she could have imagined. The future they'd tentatively planned together now seemed uncertain, shadowed by the past neither of them could escape.

Emily returned to her cabin, the door closing behind her with a soft click. The silence felt oppressive, pressing in on her from all sides. She leaned against the door, her legs feeling weak, as the weight of Sean's words settled into her chest.

She had always seen something behind his eyes, a shadow that lingered there. She had noticed it from the beginning—how he had latched onto her pain, how he had been drawn to her like a moth to a flame. But she had been so wrapped up in her own grief, her own spiraling need for control, that she had never questioned it. Never asked him if he was okay.

And now, standing alone in the cabin, the guilt washed over her like a tidal wave. How could she have been so blind? So selfish? She had taken his kindness, his stability, at face value, never bothering to look deeper, never wanting to see what lay beneath.

She sank down onto the edge of the bed, her hands trembling. Sean had been her anchor, the one thing keeping her from slipping into the abyss. But now, she realized, he had been drowning right alongside her, struggling to keep his head above water while she unknowingly pulled him under.

Her mind replayed the moments they had shared, the way he had been there for her without hesitation. She remembered how quickly he had fallen for her, how easily he had offered her comfort, support, and love. It had seemed almost too good to be true, and now she understood why. He had been trying to fill the void left by his daughter's death, seeking redemption through her.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. She didn't deserve to cry, not after what she had done—what she had failed to do. All those times she had seen the pain in his eyes and brushed it off, telling herself it was just part of who he was. She had convinced herself that he was the strong one, the rock she could lean on. But in reality, he had been just as broken, just as lost as she was.

Emily buried her face in her hands, the guilt twisting in her stomach. She had taken everything he offered without question, without thinking about the cost to him. She had been so caught up in her own grief, her own need to keep it together, that she had ignored the signs—the way his hands would sometimes shake, the distant look in his eyes when he thought she wasn't watching.

She had been selfish. She had let him be her hero, never once considering that he might need saving too.

The cabin felt colder, emptier, without Sean there. Emily curled up on the bed, wrapping her arms around herself as she stared at the wall. She had thought that maybe, just maybe, they could help each other heal. But now she wasn't so sure. How could they, when they were both drowning in their own pain?

Her mind raced, thoughts tumbling over one another. She couldn't stop thinking about the way he had looked at her tonight, the anger and hurt in his eyes. She had seen glimpses of that darkness before, but she had always pushed it aside, too afraid to confront it. Now, she wished she had. Maybe if she had asked him, if she had tried to understand, things wouldn't have gotten this far. Maybe he wouldn't be pushing her away now.

But it was too late for that. She had missed her chance, and now all she could do was sit in the silence, alone with her guilt and the haunting realization that the man she thought she knew was slipping further away from her.

And it was her fault.