It Ends with Us – Colleen Hoover

The room was quiet, save for the ticking of the old clock on the wall. Emma sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers digging into the thick fabric of the quilt, trying to ground herself in something solid. Anything but the storm swirling in her chest.

It had been four years since she left the small town of Millersville. Four years of building a life that was hers — unshaken by anyone else’s rage or approval. And now she was back, standing in the same house where so many screams had been muffled by closed doors and forced smiles.

She had returned not for reconciliation, but for closure. Her mother’s funeral brought her here, but her own need for peace would be the reason she stayed — at least for a little while.

Downstairs, laughter echoed. A few relatives had come for the wake, their voices full of stories Emma could barely connect with. She stayed upstairs, away from the reminiscing. What was there to remember fondly?

Her phone buzzed. A text from Daniel.

**“Thinking of you. Want me to come by?”**

Daniel. The man who taught her that kindness didn't have to come with conditions. Who showed her that love wasn’t supposed to make you feel small. But even with him, the past sometimes whispered too loudly.

She typed back:

**“Not yet. I need to face this on my own.”**

As she put the phone down, her eyes landed on a photo frame on the nightstand. She picked it up carefully — a picture of her and her mother, taken the day Emma turned twelve. Her mother had worn sunglasses to hide the bruise, but Emma had known better. That was the year she promised herself she wouldn’t live the same life. She would not marry a man like her father.

But sometimes pain repeats itself in softer tones.

When she first met Jacob, he was everything she thought she wanted. Charming, intelligent, protective. She mistook his control for care. The first time he raised his voice, she blamed herself. The first time he broke something, he said he was sorry. The first time he pushed her, he cried. And she stayed.

She stayed because she remembered her mother’s voice, whispering, **“It’s not always bad. You just have to learn when to be quiet.”**

Emma had been quiet for far too long.

It wasn’t until she found herself curled up in the bathroom, bleeding from a cut on her forehead after a thrown glass, that she knew it had to end. She left with a single suitcase and a bruised spirit, but she never looked back.

Daniel came later. Gentle, steady Daniel who never raised his voice. Who asked before touching her. Who gave her silence when she needed it and words when she was ready to hear them. He never tried to fix her — just stood beside her while she put herself back together.

A soft knock pulled her from her thoughts.

“Aunt Em?” A small voice called. It was Zoe, her niece — only seven, but with eyes too curious for her age.

Emma opened the door. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Zoe held out a drawing. “I made this for you. It’s a house, but it’s really quiet. Like you like it.”

Emma knelt and took the paper. The drawing was crude — a house with big windows and a garden. But in the top corner, there was a sun wearing a smile. It made Emma smile, too.

“Thank you,” she said, hugging the girl tightly. “It’s perfect.”

Zoe looked up at her. “Were you sad when Grandma died?”

Emma thought for a long moment. “Yes. But I think... I was sad for what she never got to have.”

“Like what?”

“A life without fear.”

Zoe didn’t fully understand, but she nodded anyway.

That night, after everyone had gone and the house settled into silence, Emma walked into the kitchen. The light flickered slightly as she made tea — the same way it always had when her father slammed cabinet doors. But tonight, there was no slamming. Just her breath and the warmth of the cup in her hands.

She took a deep breath and picked up her phone again.

**“You can come now.”**

Twenty minutes later, Daniel was on the porch, holding a single daisy — her favorite. He didn’t ask questions. He just opened his arms, and she stepped into them.

In the quiet of that embrace, Emma felt something shift.

For years, she believed breaking the cycle meant simply walking away. But now she understood — it also meant **choosing better**, even when the fear lingered. It meant being honest about pain, even when no one else wanted to hear it. It meant speaking up, even when you were taught to stay silent.

She whispered against Daniel’s chest, “I don’t want to be afraid of love anymore.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Then we’ll take it slow. Step by step.”

In that moment, Emma realized healing didn’t always come in thunderclaps or revelations. Sometimes, it came in small, quiet choices — choosing peace over chaos, kindness over patterns, love over fear.

And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t just surviving.

She was beginning to live.