Resolve.
Cold. Locked. Absolute.
“You do this,” I say, “and you become their justification.”
“They already made me that.”
“You do this,” I continue, voice tightening, “and they will hunt you for the rest of your life.”
“They already are.”
Every answer is ready.
Every answer is true.
That’s what makes this worse.
I drop my voice.
Lower.
Closer.
“You do this… and I lose you.”
That one lands.
I see it.
A flicker.
A fracture in that iron control.
Just for a second.
And I hate that I used it.
I hate that it worked.
Then she breathes in.
And it’s gone.
“You don’t get to make me small so you can keep me.”
It hits like a strike to the chest.
Clean.
Precise.
Earned.
Good.
We’re done pretending this is strategic.
This is personal now.
