Tabitha Stay With Me -

“If I stay, you have to mean it this time. Every single day. Not just on the rainy ones.”

I flinch. She’s not wrong.

The rain doesn't knock anymore. It just starts—a sudden, heavy curtain that turns the driveway into a river of loose gravel and last autumn’s leaves. I am standing in the open doorway, the screen door whining on its hinge, and I am saying it again. tabitha stay with me

She finally turns. Her face is pale, wet, and I can’t tell if it’s rain or tears. Maybe both. Maybe that’s the same thing now. “If I stay, you have to mean it this time

“You don’t get to say that anymore,” she says. Her voice is quiet, but the rain makes everything louder. “You had a thousand mornings to say it. A thousand nights when I was right there, in the bed next to you, and you chose the other room. You chose the TV. You chose the goddamn crossword puzzle.” She’s not wrong