What Are The Lirik Of 'What I'Ve Done' By Linkin Park?

Beverly Sinclair and Evan Gray have loved each other for ten years, and they've been married for six. To everyone else, Evan seems madly in love with Beverly. He's devoted, gentle, and basically the perfect husband. But it's only when his mistress shows up at her door that Beverly realizes it was all a cruel joke. He's been cheating for five years, and he even has an illegitimate child. He keeps the other woman right under Beverly's nose, all while wearing the mask of a loving husband. He says he loves her—even more than life itself. But how is this love? Evan hides behind layers of fake affection, dragging everyone around him into the charade, all so he can build the illusion of a perfect marriage. Even Beverly's son has been lying to her. It's a double betrayal from father and son, especially when they act like the mistress is the one who completes the family. Utterly devastated, Beverly decides she's done with this. She returns to her classified team and leaves behind the absurd, hollow life that never truly belonged to her. When the one-month notice period ends, she disappears completely, vanishing from the world without a trace. From that moment on, Evan never sees Beverly again. ... Evan loves Beverly to his core. He was just too afraid to lose her, yet that fear turned their marriage into a tragedy. He thought he hid it well. He thought their marriage was still blissful and that the woman he loved so deeply would never discover the truth. But it's only after Beverly vanishes from his world that he realizes just how wrong he was. Evan breaks down, losing his sanity. He gives up everything. He jumps through hoops and kneels before every god he can find, begging for just one more glance from her. With red eyes and shaking hands, he pleads, "Can you please... love me once more?" However, the truth is that a late apology is worth less than nothing. Beverly already has someone new in her life. There's no place left for Evan or their son.

My father was a highly respected criminal investigator, and my mother was the head of the ER, dedicated to saving lives. However, I was a regular at the local police station. I fought, caused trouble, and earned the title of “the most hopeless kid on the block.” The first time, I publicly insulted my newly transferred cousin at school. My father dragged me straight to the police station in front of everyone and had me locked up for a full day and night. The second time, I led a gang of thugs to block my cousin’s way home in an alley. My mother was so furious, she dumped me deep in the mountains, leaving me to be bullied by a lecherous bachelor. The third time, I stole a keepsake from my cousin and tossed it down a sewer. My father put the handcuffs on me himself and sent me straight to juvenile detention. Five years later, I became a key informant in an anti-fraud operation, helping the police crack a major nationwide case. The media rushed to report the story, and journalists packed my parents’ house to interview the “hero’s family.” However, my parents just scoffed over the phone. “Her? A hero? We will only believe she is changed for the better when she is dead.” So why was it that when they saw me lying in a pool of blood after shielding a hostage, they finally cried?

I married him when he couldn’t even open his eyes. Four years I sat beside Evanthe Blackwood’s bed. Keeping him alive while his family held their breath. The marriage was a contract. A legal arrangement. Nothing more. Nobody warned me that four years of silence could break a person open. Nobody told me that loving a man who couldn’t reject you was the most dangerous kind of loving there was. Then he woke up. He looked at me like I was a stranger who had broken into his house. To Evanthe I was an opportunist. A woman who had married a helpless billionaire for his name and his money. He decided who I was in the first five minutes and nothing I did was ever going to change that. He kept me anyway. For the heir clause. For the contract. Never for me. I should have left then. Instead I stayed and I hoped and I let myself believe that maybe underneath all that coldness something real was trying to get out. Then Sena came back. His first love. And I watched him look at her the way he had never once looked at me. So I left. No tears. No confrontation. Just his ring on the desk and my signature on the divorce papers. What he didn’t know was that I didn’t leave alone. Now he’s found me. Three years later. Standing at my door with regret all over his face and my daughter’s eyes staring back at him. But is sorry ever really enough?

Separated by fate, haunted by the past– that's how they live. Until they met again; they built hatred, showed agony, betrayed friends, wanted to be loved, and learned how to sacrifice one's happiness. Remember those nights that I've been disturbing you, it's because I can't say what I need to say. Remember the time that I didn't disturb you; I'd been holding on so much, hoping that you'd be the one to call me first– and you did. Every time I hurt your feelings, I'm hurting too. I– I just don't know how to tell you the exact words, so I keep on annoying you. I'm sorry for all the troubles that I have caused– "I know," I said, and I hugged him. I can sense the same pain as what he is in my dream. Confessing is not bad. I'm just overwhelmed because I feel the same way. "I like you too, Alex. I don't know how, I don't know why but that's how I felt. I hate you harassing and annoying me but I missed it when you don't!" I smiled. Their fate is twisted.

The day I found out my wife, Madison Anderson, had a secret three-year-old son with someone else, was the day I wired our house with explosives. I was prepared to end it all, with her by my side. Only that night, Madison never came home. I sat hollow and numb until my 10-month-old daughter suddenly called out, "Da-da." That single word shattered my resolve. She breathed life back into me. And so, I grabbed the most expensive car in the garage and sped away, detonating the explosives from beyond the gates. I drove straight to the airport, uncaring of the fiery wreckage that I left behind. From that night forward, the man Havenport had ridiculed as the Anderson family's worthless son-in-law vanished without a trace. Five years later, our paths crossed again at a boutique inn in Bellmont. Madison stared at me as I politely handed her the room key. For a moment, she looked lost. "Travis.... you seem different." I simply smiled and wished them a pleasant stay as a family of three.

Clive Hawkins, who had been giving me the cold shoulder, posted on X. [First 100 likes get a breakup cash giveaway.] In no time, it had 99 likes and reposts. I knew he was waiting for me to give in, just like how I begged him to delete it during the ten times we fought before. But this time, I reposted it myself and wrote, [Count me in.] Then, I blocked him on every platform. Three days later, his sister messaged me. [Clive saved you a front row seat. Stop hiding and come back. As long as you show up, he's willing to forgive you.] I glanced at the plane ticket on my desk and replied. [I'm busy.] I really was busy. I’d been admitted to graduate school at Redstone University, and my flight was leaving that night for orientation. From then on, we would be separated by thousands of miles, never to see each other again.