The screen glowed softly in the dim room, my phone resting on the nightstand like a live wire. I didn’t want to look at it again, afraid of what I’d find. But I did. Every second, every pull of my finger brought me closer to pieces I couldn’t handle right now.
A single new message: Killian: I’m sorry.
I stared. The world shook a little.
Not “I love you,” not “I’m here,” just “I’m sorry.” Enough. Too much. It carried every apology he’d never said, every absence, every cowardice, every choice he’d made that ended with my world in shreds.
I pressed my forehead to the cool wall. Tears came unbidden, hot and sudden. My breathing came in broken shards. Everything in me had clenched, tightened, shut down. And now…opened, spilling.
I curled into myself on the bed, hugging knees to my chest. I pressed the phone against my heart like a talisman. And I fell apart.
What I felt wasn’t relief. It was heartbreak all over again. Because I loved him. Still do. I hate that I do. And now I knew love woul
