All my rehearsed speeches vanish. I'm left with just the raw truth.
"You hurt me." My voice shakes. "Really, really hurt me."
"I know." The words sound like they're being pulled from somewhere deep. "I know."
"I don't think you do." I lean forward. "I couldn't eat for weeks. Couldn't sleep. Cried myself sick. Every morning I woke up and remembered all over again."
His hands clench on the table, knuckles white.
"It was humiliating." The words come faster now. "Going from lead designer to serving coffee. Having people from Williams come in and pity me. Counting my tips to see if I could afford groceries."
"Bailey—"
"I'm not finished." My voice hardens. "I was trying to tell you I was pregnant that night. You wouldn't let me finish. You just... cut me off. Called me aliabilityand pushed me out of your life like I was nothing."
He flinches at the word. Good.
"I spent two years with Derek thinking I wasn't enough. Or that I was too much, too needy, too emotional. Then I thought maybe with you..." My voice breaks. "But you proved him right. You proved I was exactly what he said I was."
"That's not—" He stops himself. Takes a breath. "You're right. I made it seem like that. But he was wrong. You weren't too much. Not at all. I was too broken to see what I had."
"Pretty words."
"True words."
We stare at each other across the table.
"I'm sorry," he says finally. "I know that's not enough. I know it doesn't fix anything. But I'm so, so sorry."
The apology sits between us. I want to throw it back at him. Tell him sorry means nothing.
But I asked him here. I need to know if he's actually changed.
"Why should I believe you've changed?" The question I've been carrying for weeks. "You're good at words, Daniel. You made me believe a lot of things before."
He reaches into his pocket. Pulls out his phone. Opens something and hands it to me.
"What’s this?"
"My trust journal. My therapist gave me an assignment. Every time I feel the urge to control something out of fear, I choose trust instead. And I write it down."
I look at the screen. Notes app. Entries dating back weeks.
I scroll through, reading.
Week 6, Day 3: Lottie made a mistake on the Larsson contract. Wanted to take over and fix it myself. Didn't. Trusted her to handle it. She did.
Week 7, Day 5: Board questioned my decision on the Whitmore acquisition. Felt panic rising—wanted to shut down the conversation. Told them the truth about my doubts instead. They helped me find a better solution.
Week 9, Day 5: Saw Bailey's Instagram story (Gretchen tagged her). Wanted to comment. Wanted to like it. Wanted to show her I'm still here. Didn't. Trusting she'll reach out when ready.
Week 10, Day 2: Therapy today. Told Dr. Chen about my mom. About watching my dad destroy her. Actually cried. Trusted her with the ugly parts.
The entries go on and on. Small things. Big things. All dated. All detailed.
"This is real?" I look up at him. "You've been doing this for months?"
"Twice a week. Therapy. It's..." He runs a hand through his hair. "It's the hardest thing I've ever done. But I needed to do it."
