The hope died in his eyes, replaced by something that looked like terror. His face went pale, and I saw him swallow hard before answering.
"I... yes. I thought it would help — "
"You thought wrong." I stepped closer, and he actually took a step back, responding to something in my voice that was colder than anything I'd ever directed at him before. "Did you really think that would help? Did you, an outsider, think you could write a letter and fix a system that's been destroying women for fifty years?"
"I was trying to help you — "
"You weren't helping me, Jimmy." My voice remained perfectly level, each word precisely chosen for maximum impact. "You were proving their point. You handed them exactly what they needed — evidence that I'm too emotional, too weak to handle my own battles without my boyfriend intervening."
Jimmy was crying now, tears streaming down his face. Hishands were shaking, and I could see him struggling to find words, to explain, to somehow undo what had been done.
"I just wanted to fight for you," he said, his voice breaking. "I thought if they just knew how good you are, how much you deserve — "
"What you thought doesn't matter," I cut him off. "What matters is what you did. You gave them my career on a silver platter because you don't understand the first thing about the world I live in."
"Izzy, please, I never meant — "
"You took away my chance to fight my own battle," I continued relentlessly. "You made me look weak when I needed to look strong. You destroyed everything I worked for because you were too naive to understand that good intentions aren't enough."
Tears were streaming down his face now, and I could see him struggling to hold himself together, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Part of me — a small, buried part — wanted to comfort him, to tell him I knew he'd meant well. But that part was locked away behind the wall I'd built, unreachable and irrelevant.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "God, Izzy, I'm so sorry. I thought... I love you so much, and I just wanted to help — "
"Love isn't enough," I said quietly. "Not when it comes with this kind of destruction."
I turned to walk away, but his voice stopped me.
"What does this mean?" he asked, his voice broken. "For us?"
I looked back at him — this man who'd held me when I cried, who'd cooked for me, who'd made me believe for a brief, shining moment that I could have both strength and softness, competence and vulnerability.
"Stay away from me," I said. "Don't call. Don't text. Don't show up at my apartment or my station. We're done."
I walked away, leaving him standing there in the parkinglot, destroyed by the weight of his own good intentions. The third and final pillar of my life — love, hope, the possibility of a future with someone who understood me — crumbled to dust behind me.
But I didn't look back. I couldn't afford to. I had nothing left now except my competence, my tactical mind, and the cold, hard shell I'd built to protect what remained of myself.
It would have to be enough. It was all I had left.
chapter
thirty
I madeit home on autopilot, the drive from Station 2 passing in a blur of stoplights and empty streets. My hands were steady on the wheel, my breathing controlled, my mind carefully blank. It wasn't until I walked through my apartment door and closed it behind me that the silence hit me like a tangible thing.
The apartment felt different. Wrong. Every surface, every corner held memories of her — Izzy laughing at my terrible movie choices, Izzy cooking breakfast in my kitchen, Izzy curled against me on the couch while I read her stories from nursing school. The ghost of her presence filled every room, making the emptiness feel vast and suffocating.
I walked into the kitchen, and that's where it all came crashing down.
The counter where she'd sat that first night, driving me crazy just by existing in my space. The stove where we'd cooked together, where I'd made her tres leches and watched her face light up with surprise and pleasure. The table where we'd shared breakfast after the best night of my life, where she'd told me she wanted children and I'd failed her so completely.
The sob that escaped me was raw, animalistic, a sound Ididn't recognize as coming from my own throat. My legs gave out, and I found myself on the kitchen floor, my back against the cabinets, wracked with the kind of crying that had no sound — just pure, physical agony that felt like my chest was being torn apart.
I destroyed everything.
The thought circled through my mind like a mantra, each repetition driving the knife deeper. I hadn't just lost Izzy — I'd destroyed her. I'd taken her trust, her vulnerability, her dreams for the future, and I'd crushed them with my own stupidity. She'd told me exactly how her world worked, warned me about the politics and the way women like her were treated, and I'd ignored it all because I thought I knew better.
Lisa trusted me, too.
