Not anger. Not defiance. She left because she thought I wanted her gone. Because she thought she was making things worse just by being here.
My stomach drops, and I hear my words to her again.
Then go. I don’t care.
I told her to leave. And she did.
“Charlotte…” My voice catches. “I’m sorry.”
Her eyes are already slipping shut again.
“No.” I slide an arm behind her shoulders and pull her up before she can slump sideways into the dirt. She’s too hot. Too limp. “No—stay with me.”
Her head falls against my chest. For a second, she doesn’t react at all. Then panic hits hard enough to make my hands unsteady.
“Charlotte.” I tighten my hold on her. “Look at me.”
She makes a faint sound, somewhere between a breath and a protest.
“That’s it.” I barely recognize my own voice. “Stay with me.”
She shifts weakly against me, heat pouring off her through the thin fabric of her shirt. My gaze drops to her leg—the swelling climbing higher—and something inside me starts to fracture.
I should have come sooner. I should have gone after her the second she left. Instead, I stood there and let her walk away because I was too stubborn to move.
Now she’s barely conscious in my arms, and every second I hesitated feels like it’s lodged in my chest.
Her lips brush my shirt as she tries to speak. I almost miss it.
“Sorry.”
Something in me snaps.
“Don’t.” It comes out sharper than I mean. I force my voice down. “Don’t do that.”
Her brow tightens, like she doesn’t understand.
“You don’t apologize for this.” My hand slides to the back of her neck, holding her steady when her head starts to slip. “Do you hear me?”
No response. Maybe she can’t. But I keep going anyway, the words dragging out of me before I can stop them.
“Why would you think I wanted this?”
Her breathing stutters, shallow and uneven.
I press my forehead briefly to her hair, closing my eyes for a second.
Because I made her think it.
Because Ilether believe it.
My chest tightens.
“Stay with me,” I say, quieter now. “Charlotte, stay awake.”
Her fingers curl weakly against my side, then fall still.
And suddenly, there’s no room left for denial. This isn’t guilt. Not habit. Not obligation.
