After Rejecting My Confession, My Uncle's Overwhelmed With Regret

"Mom, I've thought about it. I'm going abroad with you."

A pause, then joy filled her voice. "Lola, that's wonderful! I'll arrange your visa right away. Spend time with your friends while you can. You won't see them much after you leave."

I nodded, glancing at a photo of two smiling kids in a fiery sunset.

"And don't forget your uncle," Mom added. "He's been there for you all these years. Make sure to thank him."

"I will, Mom," I said softly, still looking at that sunset memory.

"I know, Mom. I'll thank him properly."

After hanging up, I stared at the photo-a sunset with two kids smiling. The older one was my uncle, Henry.

When I was six, my dad died in an accident, and my mom disappeared. It was Henry, only fourteen then, who took me in and raised me, despite all objections. He walked me to school every day, balancing his life around me.

How could I not fall for someone so caring, so steady?

I kept my feelings buried, knowing that voicing them might change everything.

Life felt stable-until that day.

I had just turned 18, and Henry cleared his schedule to celebrate with me. He was in high spirits, and by the time the guests left, he'd had a bit too much to drink.

As I helped him to his room, I glanced at his relaxed face, his cheeks flushed, lips parted slightly.

Without thinking, I leaned down and kissed him.

Henry's eyes flew open, and he pushed me back. "Lola! Are you crazy? What are you doing?"

I steadied myself, heart pounding. This was it. No more hiding.

"Henry," I said, meeting his shocked gaze. "I like you."

"You're insane, Lola! I'm your uncle! How could you?" Henry looked at me, disbelief etched across his face.

"But we're not related by blood," I replied calmly. "Henry,. We aren't family by blood."

His face darkened. "Lola, I'm eight years older than you. You're only eighteen. You can't tell the difference between family affection and love."

"Henry, I know the difference," I said firmly. "I've liked you for a long time. I'm an adult, and I know what I'm feeling."

I'd never defied Henry before, and he looked at me, his face growing serious. "Lola, your feelings aren't love. You're just confused. You're still too young to-"

I cut him off. "Henry, do you think I'm joking because of my age? Just wait. I'll prove it."

His eyes searched mine, almost helpless. "You're crazy. Absolutely crazy."

I don't remember how that argument ended; I only know that every birthday since, I wished to be with Henry.

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one-it was always the same wish. He always said I was stubborn, like a mule. And he was right.

But now, with my 22nd birthday a month away, my wish has changed.

This year, I decided to leave.

I decided to leave Henry Jones.