Page 24 of Oops I Fell For The Lumberjack Next Door

This is the moment. Fifteen years of carrying this, of watching her walk away believing a version of me that was always wrong, of knowing the truth and not knowing how to deliver it without destroying something else.

"Let's go inside."

She nods. Lets me lead her up the steps. Inside, the woodstove is going. Warm. Tinsel claims his spot on the rug. I pour her coffee from the pot, guide her to the kitchen chair. She wraps both hands around the mug.

Then I sit across from her and tell her the truth.

"Ryan was cheating on you. The whole time. From about three months into your relationship through the end."

The mug stops halfway to her mouth. She sets it down carefully.

"Multiple women. Girls in the dorm. Someone from his econ study group. A bartender at that place on Virginia Street. He bragged about it in the room when you weren't there. To me. To whoever else was around. He didn't think it was a big deal."

Her face is very still. Her hands stay on the mug.

"I tried to tell him to stop. Told him it was wrong, told him you deserved better. He laughed it off. Said it didn't count because you'd never find out, and he still came home to you, so what was the harm." My jaw aches from how tight it is. "And I couldn't figure out how to tell you without destroying my friendship with him. Which I know sounds pathetic. It was pathetic. I was twenty one and I was loyal to a guy who didn't deserve it."

"So you tried to break us up."

"I tried to make it end without saying why. I showed up at your dates. Made myself impossible. Created enough friction that maybe you'd get fed up with the drama and walk away on your own. I thought if the relationship ended because of external pressure, you'd be hurt but you wouldn't be humiliated."

"Instead, I hated you."

"Yeah. And Ryan let you. He chose your side publicly, cut me out, and I lost my best friend and any chance of being believed. You left college thinking I was the problem. Ryan graduated, moved on, and never had to answer for any of it."

Margot stares at the table. Her thumb traces the rim of the mug. The woodstove crackles. Tinsel's breathing is the only other sound.

"Why didn't you just tell me." Quiet. Fragile.

"Because I thought you'd believe him over me. And you would have. He was charming. I was his grumpy roommate who didn't talk enough and worked on a tree farm on weekends. If I'd said 'your boyfriend is cheating on you,' he'd have turned it around. Said I was jealous. And you'd have stayed with him longer, hating me even more."

"You don't know that."

"I do. Because it's exactly what he did when things started falling apart. He told you I was the problem. And you believed him."

She flinches. Small but visible.

"I'm not saying this to hurt you. I've never wanted to hurt you. I was a kid who watched his best friend treat a good woman like garbage, and the only tool I had was showing up and being loud about it. I did the right thing in the worst possible way. And I've carried that for fifteen years."

The kitchen is quiet for a long time. Margot doesn't speak. Her hands stay on the mug. Her eyes stay on the table. I watch her process it. The editor brain working through the text, checking for inconsistencies, testing the narrative against everything she already knows.

When she looks up, there are tears on her cheeks.

"You tried to protect me."

"Badly."

"But you tried."

"Yes."

"And then I spent fifteen years hating you for it."

"You didn't know."

"I should have." She wipes her cheeks with the heel of her hand. "The signs were there. With Ryan. I look back now, after Daniel, after learning what a checked out man actually looks like, and the patterns were the same. Ryan never answered his phone when I was around. He had study groups that ran until two AM. He smelled different when he came home some nights." Her voice catches. "I saw it. I just didn't want to."

"That's not your fault."