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Didn’t fight for her the way I should have.
“You should’ve known better,” I growl, jaw clenching.
Because I did.
Deep down?
I knew.
But it was easier to believe she left me—than to believe I was the one who lost her.
I exhale slow.
Long.
Trying to steady the storm inside me.
“I’m fixing it,” I say quietly.
Because that’s what this is now.
Not damage control.
Not regret.
Fixing it.
Making it right.
For her.
For us.
I look back toward the motel room.
Toward the door she’s behind.
Sleeping, if I had to guess.
Exhausted.
Still here.
That thought alone does something to me.
Because she stayed.
After everything.
After what I said.
After what I believed.
She still came back.
Still let me touch her.
Still let me in.
