Page 61 of Hidden

That was the exact moment something inside me shifted for good.

Because that wasn’t the face of a woman trying to reject me.

That was the face of a woman trying to keep me alive.

My chest heaved as I stared at her, every thought in my head colliding too fast and too violently to make sense of any of them.

“Gabriella…” I said again, but this time it came out quieter, rougher, stripped of all the fury that had been driving me seconds before. “What the fuck is he doing to you?”

Her whole body went still.

Still in that way prey animals went still when they knew movement might get them killed.

And Christ, the sight of it made something murderous uncurl inside me.

Because I knew then.

Enough to know that I had been wrong.

Enough to know that I had let myself believe the easiest version of the truth because the real one would have destroyed me.

Enough to know that every time she had sent me away, she had likely been trying to save me from something I had been too stubborn or too blind or too fucking hurt to see.

And suddenly I couldn’t breathe.

She lifted one trembling hand and pressed her fingertips to the glass again, right over the place where my fist had hit moments before, and for one stupid, broken heartbeat, I nearly did the same.

But then she mouthed it.

Go.

A fresh wave of anger surged through me, so hot and immediate it made my teeth clench.

Not at her. I was never really angry with her—I was angry at all of it. The years of lies. The years of separation. At every person who had played a hand in making us end up where we were now.

At the way she was standing there in front of me, looking like she wanted me and feared for me in equal measure, and still asking me to leave like she was something I could survive losing.

My hand flexed uselessly at my side.

“No,” I said, though I kept my voice low now, because I understood the fear in her eyes in a way I hadn’t five minutes ago. “No, I’m not doing this again. I’m not standing on the outside while you let me believe this is what you want.”

Her eyes squeezed shut for half a second, and when they opened again, there was something pleading in them that I didn’t know how to bear.

Somewhere along the way, she had stopped believing I could carry this with her.

That she had to carry it alone.

The thought landed so hard it made me feel suddenly hollow.

“You used to trust me,” I said again, quieter this time, not accusing anymore, just broken around the edges by the truth of it. “So why won’t you now?”

She shook her head slowly, tears slipping free at last, and even though I couldn’t hear her, I understood her answer all the same.

Because this wasn’t about trust.

This was about fear.

And that was so much worse.