Christian Hughes sat in the small, dimly lit café on the outskirts of town, his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had long since gone cold. He hadn't touched it, hadn't even taken a sip. Instead, he stared at the swirling patterns in the cup, lost in thought, the weight of everything pressing down on him.
The lyrics from Taylor Swift's "Would've, Could've, Should've" played in his head: "If you never touched me, I would've gone along with the righteous." The words cut deep, reminding him of how far he'd fallen, how much he had lost since that summer in Sweden. He couldn't help but replay it all over and over again—the choices he had made, the mistakes he couldn't take back.
It had been a year since Dani had walked out of his life, but her absence still haunted him. Their breakup hadn't been clean or simple. It had been messy, filled with words they couldn't take back, wounds that hadn't healed. And yet, as much as he wanted to move on, to forget, he couldn't escape the feeling that if he had just done things differently, everything would've turned out another way.
His phone buzzed on the table, dragging him out of his thoughts. It was a message from Mark.
Mark: Hey man, you coming out tonight?
Christian stared at the message, a sinking feeling settling in his gut. The idea of going out, pretending like everything was fine, was exhausting. But that's what he had been doing for months now—going through the motions, acting like his life hadn't been shattered.
Christian: Not tonight. Got a lot on my mind.
He set the phone down and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment. The café around him was quiet, a far cry from the chaos of his mind. He had thought that putting distance between himself and everything that happened would help, that leaving behind the horrors of Sweden would somehow give him peace. But peace hadn't come.
And neither had forgiveness.
Later that evening, Christian found himself back in his apartment, sitting on the couch and staring at the blank television screen. He had been avoiding it, avoiding everything that might remind him of Dani, but somehow, everything still did. The apartment felt empty without her—without her laughter, her presence, even the quiet moments they used to share.
His thoughts drifted back to that final fight, the one that had ended it all. The words they had thrown at each other, the accusations, the bitterness—it had been the culmination of months, maybe even years, of pent-up resentment. But the truth was, Christian knew he had been wrong. He hadn't been there for her, not the way he should have been. He hadn't been the boyfriend she deserved.
The knock on the door startled him, pulling him out of his spiral. He wasn't expecting anyone, but when he opened the door, his heart nearly stopped.
It was Dani.
She stood there, her eyes wide, her face a mixture of uncertainty and something else—something he couldn't quite read. She looked different than the last time he had seen her. Stronger, more in control. But there was still that familiar vulnerability in her eyes, the one that had always pulled him in.
"Dani," Christian said, his voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing here?"
Dani hesitated, looking down at the floor for a moment before meeting his eyes. "I—I don't know. I just... I needed to see you."
Christian stepped aside, letting her in, though his mind was racing. This was the last thing he had expected, and he wasn't sure he was ready for whatever this was. As Dani walked into the living room, she glanced around, her eyes lingering on the familiar space.
"It feels... strange, being here again," she said softly, her voice tinged with sadness.
Christian nodded, his throat tight. "Yeah, it does."
They stood there for a moment, the silence between them heavy with everything they hadn't said. Finally, Dani turned to face him, her eyes filled with something close to regret.
"I've been thinking a lot," she said quietly. "About everything that happened. About us."
Christian swallowed hard, his heart racing. "Me too."
Dani crossed her arms, her gaze flickering to the floor again. "I don't know if we'll ever be able to fix what's broken between us. But I need you to know... I never wanted things to end the way they did. I never wanted it to turn into this."
Christian's chest tightened, and he took a step closer to her. "Neither did I. I should've been there for you, Dani. I should've... I don't know. I should've done so many things differently."
Dani looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "We both made mistakes, Christian. It wasn't just you. I wasn't in a good place, and I relied on you to fix me when I should've been trying to fix myself."
Christian shook his head, his voice thick with emotion. "But I didn't help, did I? I wasn't there when you needed me the most. And I know that now."
Dani let out a shaky breath, wiping at her eyes. "It doesn't change what happened, though. It doesn't change what we went through in Sweden."
Christian's stomach churned at the mention of that place. Sweden had been a nightmare, a place that had torn them apart piece by piece. He couldn't think about it without feeling sick.
"I know," Christian said softly. "But I wish I could go back. I wish I could've been better."
Dani smiled sadly, her eyes filled with a sorrow that matched his own. "I wish that too."
They stood there in the quiet of the apartment, the weight of their past hanging heavy between them. Christian wanted to reach out, to touch her, to hold her like he used to. But he knew that some things couldn't be undone. Some things were too broken to fix.
"I don't know what happens now," Dani said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if we can ever be okay again."
Christian's heart sank. "Do you... want to try?"
Dani looked at him, her eyes searching his face. "I don't know. I don't know if I can trust myself to go back to that place. To that version of me."
Christian nodded, understanding. They had both changed—had been changed by the things they had seen, the things they had done. And maybe that was the real tragedy. That they couldn't go back to who they had been, even if they wanted to.
"Whatever happens, Dani," Christian said, his voice steady, "I want you to know that I'm sorry. For everything."
Dani smiled sadly, wiping away another tear. "I know. And I'm sorry too."
There was a long pause, the kind that felt like it could stretch on forever. Then, Dani took a deep breath and looked at him with a clarity he hadn't seen in her before.
"I think we need to say goodbye, Christian," she said softly. "For real this time."
Christian's chest tightened, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He had known, deep down, that this was coming. But hearing it out loud made it real.
He nodded, though his heart ached. "Yeah. I think you're right."
Dani stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. "I'll always care about you. But we can't keep doing this. We can't keep holding onto something that's gone."
Christian swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. "I'll always care about you too."
For a moment, they stood there, their hands lingering in a way that felt both familiar and final. Then, Dani gave him one last, sad smile before turning and walking toward the door. Christian watched her go, his heart breaking all over again.
As the door clicked shut behind her, the apartment fell into a deafening silence. Christian stood there for a long time, staring at the spot where she had just been, his mind replaying the last few minutes over and over again.
He had lost her.
And maybe he had never really deserved her in the first place.
Hours later, Christian sat back on the couch, his mind still racing. He couldn't shake the feeling that if he had just done things differently—if he had been more present, more understanding—they could have been okay. They could have saved what they had.
But that was the cruel reality of it all. The would've, could've, should've of their relationship haunted him, and he knew it always would.
He reached for his phone, scrolling through old photos of him and Dani—smiling, happy, back when things were simpler. Back when he thought they had a future together.
The lyrics of "Would've, Could've, Should've" echoed in his mind again: "If clarity's in death, then why won't this die?"
He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. The love they had shared had been real. But sometimes, love wasn't enough to keep the pieces from falling apart.
And now, all he could do was live with the regret.
The regret of what they could've been.
