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“You don’t like the part of me that says no.”

“I do.”

“You don’t like the man who needs time. You don’t like me when my pain becomes inconvenient, when my choices hurt you, or when I exist outside whatever version of me makes you feel safest.”

“That isn’t fair.”

“It can be unfair and fucking true.”

She shakes her head hard enough to scatter tears from her jaw. “I was angry. I was hurt, and I am terrified that you’re going to leave me again.”

“I am leaving you.”

My voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t need to. The sentence crosses the room in a low, even tone that seems to carry it farther than shouting ever could.

Charm’s body folds around the echo. One arm wraps across her stomach while the other reaches blindly for the dresser behind her, though her fingers slide across the polished wood without finding anything strong enough to hold.

“No, you aren’t,” she whispers, staring at me as though refusing the words might force them back into my mouth.

I wait for the emotion in my voice to disappear before answering. “I’m done.”

Her breath catches, and another tear slips from her jaw. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” The certainty in my voice breaks something new across her face. “Done isn’t a big enough word for what I am anymore.”

“Ryan, please.”

She reaches for me, and this time I let her fingers catch the front of my shirt. Her hands twist into the fabric while she cries hard enough that every breath breaks before reaching her lungs.

“I was scared,” she says. “I didn’t mean to accuse you. I know you didn’t cheat. I know you had every right to be with other women. Lyric said it in front of everyone, and I panicked.”

“You always panic.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s no apology for this.”

“I can fix this.”

“You broke it.”

“I’ll listen. I’ll give you time. I won’t ask what Sunday means.”

“You’re saying whatever might keep me in this room.”

“No.” Her fingers tighten in my shirt. “I mean it.”

“Cállate.”

The truth destroys what remains of her composure. Charm begins ugly crying, her mouth open around sounds she can’t contain while she tries to hold me in place with both hands.

I look down at her and feel every instinct inside me demanding that I pull her against my chest.

I don’t.

“You don’t need another therapy session or some deep internal investigation to understand what is missing. You need to shut the fuck up and listen to me.”

Her sobs quiet enough for her to hear.