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Cam looked at me like I'd performed a miracle. "Why are you being nice to me?"

"I have no idea. Probably because I'm an idiot with terrible self-preservation instincts." I took a sip of coffee. “Also, because you clearly feel awful, and I'm apparently the type of person who can't watch someone cry without wanting to help. It's a character flaw."

"It's not a character flaw."

"It absolutely is. A smarter person would've told you to fuck off the second you showed up at my office looking like a disaster."

Cam laughed. Broken and wet, but it was a laugh, nonetheless. "You're allowed to tell me to fuck off. You should tell me to fuck off."

"I'm aware. I'm choosing not to. Jury's still out on whether that's growth or stupidity."

We sat in silence while we waited for the food. Cam gradually got her crying under control, wiping her face with the sleeve of her henley, trying to pull herself together through sheer force of will.

When the sandwiches and chips and a bottle of water arrived, I forced them into Cam's hands. I watched her eat mechanically, like she'd forgotten how eating worked.

"When's the last time you practiced?" I asked.

"Saturday. Before the gala."

"Cam. You haven't practiced basketball in two days? That's probably the longest break you've taken in years."

"I couldn't." She took a bite of the sandwich, probably chewed without tasting. "Couldn't focus. Couldn't do anything except think about what I did. Coach called yesterday to check on me. I told her I was sick."

"You are sick. Just not physically."

"I hurt you, Harper. I keep replaying it. The way your face changed. The way you had to defend yourself in front of everyone because I was too casual about destroying you. The way I didn't even realize what I'd done until it was too late."

She set down the sandwich, looked at me with those red-rimmed amber eyes.

"I came out two years ago. I was twenty-six," I said quietly, deciding she deserved context. She deserved to understand what she'd actually done. "Almost twenty-seven. I was engaged to Henry, and I was miserable, and I kept telling myself it was just cold feet. Just normal pre-wedding anxiety. But it wasn't."

Cam was listening intently, not interrupting.

"When Henry betrayed me, when he published that article based on a conversation I had with my best friend in the privacy of my own home, I wasn't out yet. I was still figuring it out. Still working up the courage to admit to myself what I already knew." I paused, remembering that awful morning. "I ended the engagement immediately. Threw his ring in his face. Told him to get out of my apartment and never contact me again."

"Good."

"Yeah. But then I was alone. Single for the first time in years. And I started actually looking at what I wanted. Started letting myself feel things I'd been pushing down. Started going to lesbian bars with Mia. Started flirting with women. Started accepting that this was real."

I took a sip of coffee, trying to organize the timeline in my head.

"I came out about six months after the breakup. Posted about it on Instagram. Called my parents to tell them. And my mom—" My voice cracked. "She said I'd brought shame to the family. That my 'lifestyle choices' had consequences. That if I was going to live like that, I couldn't expect her to support it."

"Harper…”

"I lost my entire family." I looked down at my coffee, watched the foam slowly dissolving. "So yeah, I post about my life. I document everything. Because at least online, people can choose to engage with me or not. At least online, I know where I stand. At least the strangers who follow me are honest about what they want from me."

The silence stretched between us, heavy with shared understanding.

"We're both scared," Cam said finally, her voice still hoarse from crying. "Just of different things."

"Yeah. You're scared of being out. I'm scared of being betrayed again." I looked at her, met those amber eyes that had seen through me from the beginning. "And you did betray me, Cam. You took an experience I shared in vulnerability and you used it to hurt me. Just like Henry did."

She flinched, fresh tears spilling over. "I know. I'm so sorry. I'm—"

"I know you're sorry. I can see that. You look like you've been torturing yourself for two days."

"I have been. I should be. What I did was uncon—"