One entry. One small choice.
But it's something.
***
Back at the penthouse, every instinct screams to contact Bailey.
Call her. Text her. Show up at her apartment and tell her I went to therapy, that I'm changing, that I understand now what I did wrong.
My thumb hovers over her contact.
I could tell her about Dr. Chen. About the trust journal. About how I'm finally doing what she asked—figuring out why I'm so broken.
Then I remember Trevor's voice:"Don't show up before you've actually changed."
And Dr. Chen:"This is hard work. Change doesn't happen in one session."
One therapy appointment isn't change. It's just a beginning.
I have to do the work first. Actually become someone different. Not just announce that I'm trying.
Words won't convince Bailey. Only actions will.
I open the trust journal instead.
Entry #2: Wanted to call Bailey to tell her about therapy. Didn't. Trusting that doing the work is more important than announcing I'm doing the work.
I set my phone down.
The penthouse is still too quiet. Still too empty. Still haunted by everything I destroyed.
But for the first time in three weeks, I'm not drowning in despair.
I'm doing something. Actually doing the work.
It's terrifying and small and might not be enough.
But it's real.
And maybe—maybe—if I keep choosing trust over control, vulnerability over walls, change over comfort, I can become someone worthy of Bailey's trust.
I have to become that person before I ask for forgiveness.
So I'll do the work. In silence. Without performing change or demanding credit.
I'll do it because it's the only path forward.
And if at the end of it, Bailey still won't forgive me—at least I'll know I tried. At least I'll be someone different than the man who destroyed her.
I look at my phone one more time. No messages. No calls.
That's okay.
I have work to do.
And for the first time in my life, I'm willing to do it.
23
