“You’re pathetic,” I said. The word came out quiet, venomous, and final. “Instead of warning me, you made sure I stayed scared, hoping I’d go back to you. I hate you. Never speak to me again. I’m done for good. I can’t stand the sight of you.”
He recoiled, chair scraping an inch backward. His eyes went glassy, red-rimmed. For one sick second, I saw the boy he used to be before he learned how to weaponize charm and doubt. Then it was gone, and all that was left was a man crumbling in a folding chair.
“For years,” I said, stepping closer until my shadow fell across his lap, “I told myself the problem was me. I was too sensitive. Too much. Too quick to take things wrong. You were so good at making me believe it—explaining why my hurt wasn’t real, why my anger was hysterical, why every boundary I set was just me being dramatic. I got so good at swallowing it I stopped tasting the poison.”
My hands were shaking now, and I clenched them so hard that my nails bit into my palms. “Turns out I wasn’t too sensitive. I was just the only one in the room who could still feel anything.”
“Becca.” His voice was barely a rasp. He lifted a hand—reaching, placating—then let it drop when he saw my face. “I’m sorry. I know I?—”
“I’m not here for sorry.” I leaned in until I could see the sweat beading along his hairline, smell the fear rolling off him in waves. “I’m here because for months you kept coming back. My door. My job. My trailer. My campground. Every time you took another piece of me—my sleep, my safety, the air I needed to exist without checking every shadow. Why, Travis? We loved each other once. We grew up together. Why would you do that to me? How could you?”
He didn’t answer. His chest heaved. Eyes flicking to the door like he wanted to escape.
“So listen carefully,” I said, each syllable deliberate, “because I’m only saying this once, and there will be no version of this night you can rewrite in your head later, it is over. And I am donedealing with one more second of your bullshit. You messed up. This is all on you.”
The room was dead quiet except for the ticking of the wall clock and his uneven breathing.
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out at first. Then, barely audible: “I know.”
“Louder.”
“I know.” The words tore out of him, cracked and raw. “I know.”
I held his gaze until he looked away first.
“Tonight you sit here realizing what you’ve lost,” I said. “Not because I screamed. Not because I cried. Because I looked you in the eye and named every ugly thing you did, and you finally ran out of places to hide from it.”
His head dropped. Shoulders folded in. A sound escaped him—half sob, half choke. I waited until the silence swallowed him whole. Then I turned for the door.
“For what it’s worth,” he rasped behind me.
I stopped. Hand on the knob. Didn’t turn.
“You were never too much,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
The metal bit into my palm. “I will never forgive you. For any of it,” I bit out. “But I am going to forgive myself for putting up with it for so long.” I opened the door and walked out.
Matt was still in the hall, arms crossed, back to the wall. He studied my face, and whatever he saw there made him exhale, shoulders easing.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I meant it. “Yeah, actually.”
He nodded once. Pushed off the wall.
“I want to go back to your place,” I said. Home was still too tangled a word tonight. “I need to wait for Levi.”
Matt didn’t argue. “I’ll drive you.”
The ride back was quiet, the headlights carving tunnels through the smoke-hazed road. Levi’s truck wasn’t there yet.
Matt killed the engine. “I heard from the fire chief while you were talking to Travis. They’re still out there wrapping things up. Levi is okay. They all are. No injuries.”
I nodded, throat tight again for a different reason.
Matt reached over and pulled me into a quick hug. “Go inside. Call if you need me. It’ll be over soon, yeah?”
I got out, climbed the steps, and unlocked the door. The house wrapped around me like an old blanket, familiar and warm, but the comfort felt fragile, like it could tear if I breathed too hard.
