I wanted to say yes so badly it hurt.
But the words wouldn't come.
"Gabriel," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm already theirs." The tears were falling now, sliding down my cheeks, and I didn't bother to wipe them away. "I know it doesn't make sense. I know it's not healthy. But I'm trapped, Gabriel. I'm trapped in this house, in this family, in this life. And I don't know how to be only one person's anymore."
"Monika—"
"Don't you understand?" I pulled my hands away, standing, pacing the greenhouse floor. "I've been sleeping with your father. With your brother. I've let them do things to me that would make you sick. I've seen things in this house that would haunt you for the rest of your life. I'm not the girl you met in that diner. I'm not the girl you fell in love with. I'm something else now. Something broken."
He stood, crossing the space between us in two strides. His hands cupped my face, forcing me to look at him.
"You're not broken," he said. "You're hurt. There's a difference."
"Not anymore."
"Listen to me." His voice was fierce, desperate. "I don't care what you've done. I don't care what they've done to you. I love you. I will always love you. And I will spend the rest of my life helping you heal, if you let me. Please let me."
"I can't let you do that."
"Why not?"
"Because you're too good for me." The words came out in a rush, tumbling over each other. "You're good, Gabriel. You're the only good thing in this house. And if I come with you, I'll only drag you down. I'll destroy you the way I'm being destroyed. And I can't—I won't—do that to you."
He kissed me.
It was not a desperate kiss. It was not a hungry kiss. It was gentle, sad, perfect. The kiss of someone who knew they were saying goodbye.
"Then I'll go alone," he said against my lips. "But I want you to know—I'm not giving up on you. I'll never give up on you. If you ever change your mind, if you ever want to leave, I'll be there. I'll always be there."
"Gabriel..."
He kissed me again. His hands were trembling, and I realized he was crying too. The tears slid down his cheeks, falling onto mine, mingling in the space between us.
"I love you," he said. "I'll always love you. No matter what happens. No matter who you become. I'll always love you."
He pulled back. Let his hands fall from my face. Stepped away.
"Goodbye, Monika."
He walked out of the greenhouse. I stood in the middle of the orchids, surrounded by the ghosts of his mother's flowers, and I watched him go.
I didn't follow him.
I couldn't.
I didn't see him leave.
I stayed in the greenhouse until the sun had fully set, until the sky was dark and the stars were out. I didn't cry. I couldn't. The tears had dried, leaving behind a hollow ache in my chest.
When I finally walked back to the house, the foyer was empty. Gabriel's room was empty. His car was gone.
He'd left without a goodbye.
I stood in the doorway of his room, looking at the space where he'd lived. The walls were bare, the closet empty, the bed stripped of its sheets. There was nothing left of him except the faint smell of his cologne and the ghost of his presence.
