I’ll be respectful. I’ll be present. I’ll protect her when necessary.
But I won’t bleed for someone who’s already planning to leave.
I’ll make it through this year with my heart intact.
Even if it kills me to do it.
The house is quiet when we pull in.
Sabrina keeps glancing at me as we walk inside—quick looks she probably thinks I don’t notice. Like she’s waiting for something. An explosion. An accusation. Maybe an apology she doesn’t know how to give.
I don’t give her anything.
Not yet.
My jaw is still tight. My chest still feels like it’s packed with glass.
We reach the kitchen and Mabel looks up from the counter immediately, concern written all over her face. She reads rooms better than anyone I know.
“Dinner’s—” she starts.
“Not tonight,” I say gently but firmly. “We’ll handle it.”
She studies me for a beat, then nods. “I’ll be upstairs if you need anything,” she says to Sabrina, squeezing her shoulder before disappearing up the stairs.
The kitchen feels smaller without her.
We sit at the small table—too close, too familiar. The air between us is thick, waiting.
“Sabrina—” “Langston—”
We stop at the same time.
I close my eyes for half a second and inhale slowly. “Let me go first,” I say, voice low. “Because if I don’t say this now… I’m not sure I will.”
She nods, folding her hands in her lap.
I stare at the wood grain of the table because looking at her feels like stepping too close to the edge of something I can’t afford to fall into.
“I’m sorry,” I begin. The words feel strange in my mouth—heavy, necessary. “For pushing you about the Reserve. I thought I was helping. Thought you’d want time, space, resources to work on your nonprofit.”
I glance up at her briefly. “But I see now… you want to do it yourself. On your terms. And I—” I shake my head. “I admire that.”
Her breath catches, but I keep going before I lose momentum.
“I’m sorry for how I handled Elliott tonight. Not for stopping him.” My jaw tightens. “But for the way I did it. For making you see that side of me.”
Then the hardest part.
“And I’m sorry,” I say quietly, “for making you marryme.”
The words land between us like something fragile.
I straighten in my chair. “I won’t do that to you anymore.”
She looks confused, eyes searching my face.
“I’ll give you one year,” I say evenly. “After that, we walk away. Clean. No expectations.”
