He looked … normal. That was the worst part. Clean-shaven, pressed shirt, hands loose at his sides. The picture of a reasonable man who just wanted to talk.
I knew better.
My fingers found the base of my throat before I could stop them. A reflex. Muscle memory from the last time he’d stood this close.
“I know you’re angry.” Silas lifted the roses slightly, a peace offering. “And I get it. I do.”
I didn’t respond. My thumb found the inside of my finger, nail pressing into skin.
“I brought these for you.” He took a step forward, hope flickering across his face. The same hope I used to believe in. “I remember how much you loved the roses I got you on our first anniversary. You kept them until they were practically dust.”
I had. I’d also kept every apology letter he’d written after every black eye. Funny how love and pain could live in the same memory.
“The note on your car.” He shook his head like he was disappointed in himself. “That was the wrong way to approach you. I shouldn’t have done that. I was just … I was hurt, Harper. You left without even giving me a chance to fix things.”
Fix things. Like our relationship was a leaky faucet. Like the problem was something that could be patched.
“Get off my property,” I said.
His jaw twitched. Just once. But he smoothed it over, held up his hands in surrender. The roses dangled from his grip like a white flag.
“I’m not here to fight. I just want to talk. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Please.” The word cracked. He stepped closer, and I saw it then. The redness around his eyes. The slight tremor in his hand. “I haven’t slept in weeks. I can’t eat. I can’t think about anything except you. What we had.”
What we had. Bruises hidden under long sleeves. Excuses rehearsed in the mirror. A constant, gnawing fear that lived in my stomach like a second heartbeat.
“We had nothing,” I said.
“That’s not true.” His voice softened, wounded. “We had everything. I loved you, Harper. I still love you. I know I made mistakes, but I’ve been going to therapy. I’m working on myself. I’m trying to be the man you deserve.”
The words sounded right. They always did. That was Silas’s gift. He could make you doubt your own memory. Make you wonder if maybe you were the crazy one. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. Maybe he really had changed.
I’d fallen for it so many times before.
Not again.
I turned and yanked open the car door.
Silas’s hand shot out and slammed it shut.
The sound cracked through the quiet morning. His breathing had changed. Faster. Rougher. The roses crushed against the window where his other hand still gripped them.
He stood there, palm flat against the glass, glaring down at me with something dark and familiar swimming behind his eyes.
Then, like flipping a switch, his expression smoothed. He stepped back. Released the door. Looked down at the mangled roses in his fist.
“Sorry. I just …” He ran a hand through his hair. “I came hundreds of miles, Harper. The least you could do is talk to me.”
“You came hundreds of miles to leave a creepy note on my car.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be creepy.”
I stared at him. “Found you. That’s what it said.”
“It wasn’t a warning.” He said it like it was obvious. Like I was the unreasonable one. “It was a gentle FYI. I didn’t want to show up in person suddenly and scare you. I wanted you to know I was in town first.”
