He looked at me, exhausted.
“They blame me. Every day.”
A broken laugh escaped him.
“They throw things. Break glasses. Scream at night so loud the neighbors called the cops twice.”
Then he leaned in, voice low, ashamed.
“They hate each other, Julie. But they can’t leave. They’re stuck.”
The word stuck lingered between us.
And I had to fight the urge to smile.
Because I knew exactly how that felt.
The difference?
I escaped.
They didn’t.
Larry searched my face, hope trembling in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m really sorry. I was a coward. I should’ve protected you. I should’ve chosen you.”
My face didn’t change.
“I can fix it,” he rushed. “I’ll cut ties with them for real. I’ll leave. I’ll start over. We can start over. Please, Julie.”
He reached for my hand as if it belonged to him.
I stepped back.
His hand froze in the air.
And then I saw the truth.
Not love.
Not remorse.
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