Page 649 of End Game

Eventually she asks, “Did he ask you to tell me he's sorry?”

“He said he would like to apologize to you.”

Her gaze comes back up.

“I told him I would tell you that the offer exists. Nothing else.”

Relief crosses her face so quickly it makes me angry all over again.

“You do not need to see him,” I say. “You do not need to speak to him, read a message from him, forgive him, or participate in his growth.”

“I know.”

“I know you know.”

Her mouth curves faintly. “There’s my Ronan.”

“I am being precise.”

“You're being Ronan.”

“That too.”

She reaches toward my hand slowly enough that I see it, then threads our fingers together. “What about you?”

“I am willing to speak to him.”

She studies me. “That's it?”

“For now.”

“Do you trust him?”

“No.” The answer comes easily.

Cami nods. “Okay.”

She squeezes my hand. “I'm glad he apologized to you too.”

Then she leans against my shoulder.

I let my head rest lightly against hers.

Ben apologized.

I believe he is trying.

I hope—for Tori, for his children, for himself—that he becomes someone whose apology eventually matches his behavior.

None of that requires me to trust him today.

Forgiveness, if it comes, is not access.

Progress is not a reset.

I can stop carrying the responsibility for what he did without pretending it never happened.

I have treated that boundary like a door I needed to physically stand in front of, prepared to keep him from pushing through it again.