My face. My body. But not me.
“This isn’t me,” I whisper. “I don’t know this man. These aren’t real. I was at—”
I stop. The word burns in my throat.Hospital.
But with it would come everything else. The pain. The loss. The shame.
I close my mouth. Swallow it whole.
Dorian watches me, eyes full of confusion and something deeper—guilt.
“You believed this?” My voice sharpens. “You got drunk and ended up in bed with Leah because ofthis?”
“Yes,” he admits. “I believed them. I drank. And yes, I was in that bed—but nothing happened, Della. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.”
He steps closer, gently lifting my chin so I can’t escape his dark eyes.
“You were the only one,” he says, placing my hand over his chest, his voice a low, steady ache. “You still are.”
For a second, the world stills. I want to believe him. And maybe, for that one breath, I do.
But it doesn’t erase what happened. It doesn’t rewind anything.
“You believed those pictures so easily,” I whisper, and the words taste bitter on my tongue. I look away, blinking hard. “It didn’t take much, did it?”.
“I thought you were gone. You disappeared. And she—she used that. Twisted it. Gave me just enough truth to make the lie believable.”
Then his voice tightens, confused, pained.
“Six weeks. Not a word. Why didn’t you call me when you got home, Della?”
My breath catches. I step back.
“I—I got home after seven weeks.”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
I can barely speak. My voice thins into something hollow.
“The pictures… they are not real. I was… in the hospital.”
He grips the edge of the table, like he needs to anchor himself.
“The hospital?” He comes closer again, softer this time, his voice laced with something like fear. “Seven weeks? Della… what happened?”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
I can’t tell him.
Because if I do, he won’t look at me the same. And I don’t think I could bear it.
“Please.” His voice breaks around the word.
I step away, panic rising like floodwater. “I can’t do this.”
“Della—" His voice is raw now, fraying around the edges. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”
I turn, heading for the stairs, but I stop before taking the first step. I glance back. His eyes meet mine—wide, anguished, the weight of guilt carved deep into them. I almost falter. Almost.
