“Did he ask you to give me this?”
“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “He told me to apologize and to do it the best way I could and—”
“And this is what you came up with,” I cut in, my hand curling tight at my side. “Money.”
His mouth opens, then closes.
“Sean, if I ever see you again, just know you’ll look a lot worse than you do right now.”
I slam the door in his face and lean against it, my chest rising fast as my hands shake with everything I didn’t get to say.
Two thousand dollars. That’s what he thinks fixes it. Shoving cash into my hands like it’s some magic eraser, like it can buy forgiveness or make what he did feel smaller. It’s pathetic. If he actually meant any of those apologies, he wouldn’t have thought money was the answer.
My chest tightens and I press a hand
