"She might," Grandma said dryly. "And she should. If she's smart, she'll slam ittwice. But that doesn't mean you don't knock again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. You owe her that much."
That was it. That was the moment I broke. It all came pouring out—the guilt, the ache, the loss.
"I still hear her voice in the quiet," I whispered. "She's in every corner. Every breath. I wake up in an empty bed and it still smells like her. And I think—God, I think this is what it means tolose your soulmate."
"I love her," I said. "But I ruined it."
My mother grabbed my face between her hands. "Then fight for her."
Grandma nodded. "You've been drowning in guilt. But you're not alone, son. Not anymore. You want to fix this? Start by working on yourself and then showing up."
I looked at them both—these women who had loved me through every mess—and something shifted, and it was time to stop waiting for permission to fight for the only person who ever made me feel like I could be more than the sum of my mistakes.
Later on, I looked at myself in the mirror.
Hollow-eyed. Stubble thick. Skin pale and dull.
This was not the man she fell in love with.
This was the man who let her down.
So I made a list. Not to win her back. Not yet.
But to become someoneworthwinning her back.
Therapy.
To face the dark rooms in my mind I always locked and left unlit.
Work. Real work.
No more zoning out in numbers while my life crumbled quietly around me.
An apology.
Not the kind that fixes. The kind thatowns.
That says: I broke something beautiful, and I know it.
And then—
I'd fight. Not to convince her. But to show her.
To show her that I remembered the man she once looked at like he hung the stars.
To become that man.
Or at least, to claw my way toward him—bloody, breathless, and begging for one more chance to try.
Even if she slammed the door in my face.
Even if she never opened it again.
I'd still be there.
Because that's what you do when you finally understand what love really is.
Chapter Fourteen: Regression and Ruin
