My frown deepens. The calm, the remorse, it pisses me off more than shouting ever could. “You fucked up?” I repeat. “That’s what you think that was?”
“But I’m here now, Eden,” he says quietly. “I’m here to make it right.”
My eyes widen. “I’m settled here,” I choke. “You have no idea how badly I wanted you to show up. But that was over three months ago.” I swallow hard. “I’ve moved on.”
His head snaps up. “Moved on how?”
“I . . .” My voice falters, then the lie tumbles out before I can stop it. “I met someone.”
I brace myself for the explosion. The rage. The jealousy.
Instead, he just nods.
“Right,” he says after a beat. “Well . . . okay.”
Okay?
The word echoes in my head, hollow and cruel. He’s not angry. He’s not fighting. He’s just . . . okay.
And it hurts all over again. It lands heavy in my chest, dull and bruising, like something collapsing inward. I was ready for rage, for jealousy, for him to lose control the way he always does when something is taken from him.
Not this. Not calm acceptance.
“Okay?” I repeat, my voice cracking despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “That’s it?”
He lifts his gaze back to me, and for the first time since I stepped outside, I see it properly. Not anger. Not indifference.
Defeat.
“What do you want me to say?” he asks quietly.Too quietly. “You just said you’ve moved on.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t give a shit. You haven’t in a long time.”
He flinches like I’ve struck something tender. “What should I do, Eden?” he asks. “You want me to tear the place apart? Scare him off? Pretend I’ve still got a claim on you?”
My throat tightens. “That ship sailed,” I mutter.
He exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “Exactly.”
Something sharp twists in my stomach. I hate how easily he’s letting this go now. How unfair it feels after I spent months begging him—silently, stupidly—to justseeme. To recognise my pain and heal it.
“You’re a joke,” I spit. “Who in their right mind rocks up with nothing to say, no preparation to at least try and undo some of the damage you caused?”
His jaw clenches like he’s holding back the words he really wants to say. “I’m trying not to make this harder for you.”
“Yet here you are.”
He steps closer without thinking then stops himself, like he’s remembered he’s not allowed to touch me anymore.
“I wanted to fight for you,” he admits quietly. “Every second of every day. But you left. You made a life here. And it was clear from your little letter that you wanted me to leave you alone.”
My mouth falls open. “You left first,” I snap back.
The words hang there, ugly and true.
Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. I hear laughter from inside the pub, the sound of people who don’t know what it costs to stand this close to someone you still love and hate them.
“I didn’t come to make it worse or point blame,” he says eventually. “I came to tell you I’m sorry. Properly. To tell you I see where I fucked up.”
