“I didn’t think you were fragile,” he says softly.
“Then what did you think?” I demand, tears burning my vision.
He hesitates. That tiny pause feels like a knife sliding between my ribs.
“I thought you’d blame yourself.”
The words knock the air out of me. I blink at him, stunned. “What?”
“I thought you’d carry it,” he continues, voice still calm but heavier now. “You carry everything. Other people’s pain. Other people’s mistakes. I’ve watched you do it since the day I met you.”
My grip loosens slightly.
“I didn’t want to give you something else to bleed for.”
My chest tightens so violently it hurts.
“That wasn’t your decision to make,” I whisper.
“I know.”
The immediate acceptance catches me off guard.
My brows knit together. “You… what?”
“I know,” he repeats, steadier. “I was
