“Apologies are just noise against the echo of your screams that still wake me from sleep.”
My fingers tightened around the dagger unconsciously.
“There is no currency on earth,” he continued, voice cracking for the first time, “that can buy back the months you suffered. Orthe child we lost. Or the parts of you that were broken because of my decisions.”
He lifted his chin.
Slowly.
Deliberately exposing his throat.
“This blade,” he said quietly, “is sharper than regret.”
His eyes never left mine.
“Sharper than memory.”
He took one small step closer.
“If ending me — here — now — would quiet even one storm inside your chest...”
His voice lowered.
“Do it.”
The room went silent.
“Slice my throat.”
His gaze was steady.
“Watch me bleed out at your feet.”
My breath caught. “Let my life be the only offering I have left.”
His lips pressed together briefly.
“The only thing I can give that might balance the scales.”
“Even a little.”
The dagger felt heavier now.
Not because of its metal.
But because of what it represented.
Power. Choice. Revenge.
Justice.
My fingers trembled around the handle.
And suddenly —
One of the memories that still tortured my thoughts — even after five long years — crashed into me like a tidal wave.
It didn’t come quietly.
