Tabitha Stay With Me May 2026

I flinch. She’s not wrong.

“I’ll be late,” I say. “I’ll mess up. I’ll probably leave the mugs on the windowsill until next Tuesday. But I’ll mean it. I swear to God, Tabitha. I’ll mean it until I get it right.”

I cover her hands with mine. They are shaking. tabitha stay with me

“Tabitha, stay with me.”

“I’m here now,” I say.

“Please,” I say, and my voice cracks on the second syllable. I step onto the porch, the wet wood cold through my socks. I don’t have shoes on. I didn’t think to get shoes. “Tabitha. Just come back inside. We can—we can talk about it. We can talk about anything. Just stay.”

“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.” I flinch

“I’m scared,” she whispers. It’s the first honest thing she’s said all night.