I slapped a hand over my mouth, choking on a sob.
The reporter softened. “That’s… probably the most honest answer we’ve ever had on this show.”
Ansel just gave a small, helpless shrug. “I’ve done a lot of things wrong. But loving her? That’s the best thing I’ve ever done. Easiest, too”
I broke completely then, ugly crying alone in the dark room, clutching my phone like it was the only thing tethering me to him.
Because every single word was real.
Because I’d let him walk away, anyway.
Because how would he ever forgive me for letting him go?
When the video ended, I just… sat there, silence settling around me like a living thing — dense and suffocating.
The screen dimmed to black, and in it, I saw myself reflected: blotchy-faced, eyes red and swollen, mouth trembling like I’d just watched my own undoing play out in real time.
He’d said all of it.
And I believed every word.
It was the cruelest kind of proof — because now I couldn’t pretend I’d imagined it, couldn’t lie to myself that maybe I’d meant less to him than he’d meant to me. He’d loved me. He’dloved me.
And I had let him go.
The ache bloomed sharp and unbearable in my chest, a jagged sear that seemed to hollow me out from the inside. I pressed a hand to my sternum as if I could keep myself from splintering apart, but it was useless. I was already breaking.
God, I missed him.
Not just the kisses, not just the way his gaze burned through me like I was the only thing in the room worth looking at.
I missed the stupid, ordinary things — The dumb little texts about the dog he’d seen on his morning run, his rambling voice messages about the old films he’d found on TV, the terrible selfies he sent just to make me laugh, the way he teased me until my cheeks ached from smiling too hard.
I missed my best friend.
And that absence was a grief so heavy it felt physical, pressing me down until my body curled in on itself on top of my comforter.
What could I even say to him now?
Hi. Sorry, I froze when you told me you loved me.
Sorry, I made you walk away thinking I didn’t care.
Sorry, I proved every single fear you’ve ever had about people leaving you.
Even if I reached out, what right did I have?
He’d bared himself to me, raw and unflinching — and I’d stood there mute, watching the one person who made me feel like I mattered walk away.
A sob tore from me, sharp and ugly.
I’d been left before. But this wassomuch worse.
Because this time, I was the one who had opened the door and let him go. And I didn’t know how to forgive myself for it.
A laugh punched up from my throat, cruel and painful, as the realization hit me.
Joel had never looked at me that way.
