“You didn’t believe we could be good together…” I trail off. I don’t want to say desperate things that I would regret.
There is enough regret swirling around for the rest of our lives.
“How am I to trust you ever again? You fucking destroyed my business to trick me into this sham of a marriage.” She stands, stepping around me.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I spring to my feet, crowding her. She steps back, her back hitting the window.
“Your business? Have you realized this is the first time you’re calling ityourbusiness? It’s always been your father’s bistro.”
“Don’t turn it around. I’m not the one who is lying here.”
I snicker in exasperation. “No, you only lie to yourself.”
“Fuck you.” She pushes at my chest, but I don’t fucking budge.
“And let’s be honest here, your business didn’t suffer from my meddling; it bloomed.”
“Fuck you,” she yells again, trembling.
“And while we’re at it…” I control my voice, leaning closer, my mouth just a breath away from her face. “Don’t. Fucking. Call. This. A sham. Maybe I tricked you into this… but this between us is real.”
She lifts her chin, her eyes glistening. “And so is my hurt.”
A punch to my gut.
I can’t help it, and I touch her cheek, wiping a tear from her soft skin. “I’m so fucking sorry, Coraline.”
She closes her eyes and tilts her head slightly, like she needs my touch as much as I need it.
The feather-like connection should ground me a bit. It doesn’t.
We stand there in stillness. Like the hush before the shattering.
That deceptive quiet when everything feels suspended—too calm, too careful. As if the air itself is holding its breath, waiting.
The touch is light. The breath is soft. But beneath it all, the pressure builds.
Unseen. Unspoken.
A silence so complete, it rings in my ears.
Break ups don’t always come screaming. Sometimes they tiptoe in, before it all comes crashing down.
She opens her eyes, looking at me with sadness but also aloofness. “You know what’s heartbreaking? The first time you say you’re sorry, and it’s too late.”
“Don’t say that. Please, Cora.”
She pushes past me. “You had a chance to tell me the whole truth when some of it came up in San Francisco.”
“I was scared.” I admit the fucked-up truth. I wasn’t man enough to confess. I was hoping it wouldn’t get out. “I was so close to losing you, and I was fucking terrified. I couldn’t let that happen. You were so hurt already, I—” I throw my arms up, exasperated. With myself. With the situation.
She looks at me. Like, really looks at me, with a sadness that rips my chest in half.
