Addison

The tires crunched over the gravel drive as I pulled up to the secluded cabin, nestled deep in the woods like a secret. The kind of place people book for honeymoons or Hallmark endings—not for ultimatums. Addison stood on the porch, arms crossed, the breeze catching her auburn hair just right. She smiled when she saw me, but it didn't reach her eyes. We'd been on and off for years—Addison, with her impossible standards and soft heart, and me, always half a step behind when it came to commitment. I loved her, no question. But love and timing? They never seemed to sync. She’d texted me two days ago: “Let’s go away this weekend. Just us. No distractions.” I’d said yes, not realizing I was walking into something final. Inside, the cabin was warm, rustic, romantic. She’d lit candles and uncorked a bottle of wine. Everything about the setup said “fresh start,” but the tension in the air said “final chapter.” Later, wrapped in a blanket in front of the fireplace, she finally said it. “I’m turning twenty-seven again this year,” she joked, then grew serious. “I’m not twenty anymore. I want more. Marriage. Kids. Stability. I need to know… are you ever going to want the same things? Because if not, I can’t keep doing this.” The fire crackled as I stared into her eyes—eyes that had waited long enough. This weekend wasn’t just a getaway. It was the fork in the road. And I had a choice to make.