She was quiet for a long moment. Her coffee had gone cold. So had mine.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked finally. Her voice was smaller now. Less sharp. "Before the wedding. Before the guests arrived. Before I put on that dress and walked down that aisle. Why couldn't you have told me then?"
"Because I didn't know how. Because I kept hoping I was wrong. Because I was a coward who couldn't face disappointing everyone." I met her eyes. "There's no excuse. I'm not offering one. I just want you to know that I'm truly sorry. For all of it."
She looked at me for a long time. The anger was still there, but it was tired now. Worn down.
"I loved you," she said quietly. "I know you probably didn't believe it, but I did. I loved you, and I thought you loved me, and finding out it was all a lie—" Her voice broke. "That's the part I can't get over. Not the humiliation. The betrayal."
"I know."
"You wasted eighteen months of my life."
"I know."
"I'll probably have trust issues for years because of this."
"I know."
She wiped her eyes. Took a shaky breath.
"I don't forgive you," she said. "I want you to know that. I'm not there yet, and I might never be."
"I understand."
"But I'm glad you finally told me the truth." She picked up her cold coffee and set it down again. "I spent months wondering what was wrong with me. Why I couldn't make you happy. Why nothing I did was enough." A pause. "It helps to know it was never about me."
"It was never about you. You're—" I stopped. The word 'perfect' felt condescending now. "You deserve someone who can love you completely. I couldn't be that person. Not because of anything you lacked, but because of who I am."
She nodded slowly. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly.
"I'm seeing someone," she said. "It's new. But he looks at me the way you never did."
"Good. I'm glad."
"He knows about you. About what happened. He thinks you're a monster." A ghost of a smile. "I didn't correct him."
"Fair."
She stood. I stood with her.
"I'm not going to wish you well," she said. "I'm not that generous. Not yet. But I hope you figure out how to be honest with the people in your life. Whoever comes next deserves that."
"There's already someone. And I'm trying."
She studied me for a moment. Something in her expression shifted—not forgiveness, but perhaps the beginning of acceptance.
"Good." She picked up her bag. "Goodbye, Tobias."
"Goodbye, Elizabeth."
She walked out. The door chimed behind her.
I sat back down and stared at my untouched coffee.
It wasn't forgiveness. It wasn't closure, not really. But it was honest. And maybe that was enough for now.
I stayed in the coffee shop for a while.
