Ethan
The door closed behind Clara with a thud that wasn't loud, but it felt like it had slammed shut.
I stood in the middle of the room, staring at the spot where she had been just seconds before. My chest rose and fell with difficulty, not because of the argument, not because she had yelled at me.
Not even because she was angry with me—it was worse—it was because she was right.
I closed my eyes and ran a hand over my face.
"Damn it…"
My voice came out low, weary. It wasn't the first time I'd made that mistake.
And that was what destroyed me the most: I did it again.
It had nothing to do with her memory loss, or the accident… or the fact that she had woken up without remembering that she loved me.
It had to do with me, with my unhealthy need to believe I could carry everything.
