Jane had loved with the full intensity of her certainties. This man, twenty years her senior, was the obvious choice. They shared a rare ideal: an absolute love, freed from the constraints of a traditional family. To her, couples without children had something magical—love that didn’t spread thin, that remained whole, vibrant, unbreakable.
He believed in it too. Or at least, that’s what he said.
An actor in Los Angeles, he lived in the waiting—waiting for the phone call that would change everything, that would catapult him to the top. But with every missed audition, every role given to someone else, bitterness grew. A resemblance issue, they said. Too much like Harrison Ford to be an unknown, too little known to be a star.
And then there was another burden, even heavier: his wealth. Born into opulence, he carried his inheritance like a shame, like an obstacle to his ambitions. Why fight when you don’t need to work? Why struggle when everything is already yours?
Jane understood him. She loved him and accepted his inner storms. Together, they dreamed, they wrote, they constantly reinvented their future. But one day, the dream began to crumble.
He started doubting. Not just his career, but everything he was, everything he believed himself to be. Age, failure, weariness—they piled up inside him like stones he had never wanted to carry.
He watched Jane build their story with unwavering certainty. To her, they were solid, united, unshakable. Their love was a stone house, resistant to all storms.
But he was the wolf.
And he did what wolves do. He blew.
He searched for cracks. He asked venomous questions, planted doubts.
"Are you sure you never want children? What if one day you change your mind?"
But Jane didn’t waver.
So he blew harder.
He let silences stretch too long. He cast glances elsewhere, as if searching for an escape, an excuse. He hoped she would push him away, that she would finally offer him the exit he needed. But she remained there, confident, smiling, unmovable.
The house did not collapse.
That’s when he realized.
He had never been the builder of this story. He had always been the intruder. A wolf testing the strength of a dream that wasn’t his. And since nothing crumbled under his breath, he had only one option left: to run.
So he made his decision. Brutal. Radically selfish.
But at the last moment, doubt struck him.
At the airport, just before leaving, he turned to Jane. She looked at him, a light smile on her lips, trusting, loving. So beautiful. So sure.
One second.
He hesitated.
A heartbeat.
He had the wild urge to drop his ticket, to step back toward her, to say, “I’m scared, Jane. But I love you. Tell me I can stay.”
She said nothing. She simply waited.
For a moment, time seemed suspended. All it would have taken was one step toward her. One more glance. A hand reaching for hers.
But fear won.
His face hardened. He swallowed the emotion rising inside him, turned away, and murmured the words he had forced upon himself:
“We won’t see each other again.”
He opened the car door and left the keys on the seat.
Jane didn’t react right away. It was too sudden, too absurd. Only when he vanished into the crowd did she feel her heart explode. The tears rose, but she held them back.
She understood, finally.
He couldn’t blow down the stone house. So he ran.
Years passed. The pain faded, replaced by quiet irony. One day, she met a man. A man who, like her, didn’t want children. Three weeks later, she was pregnant.
When she gave birth to a stunningly beautiful little girl, she laughed. People admired the child, captivated by her sharp gaze, by the vivid expressions on her face.
Jane now smiled at her past.
In the end, she had won the better deal.
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