She looks fucking awful. Her eyes puffy and swollen from tears, but if there was any justice in this world, she’d wear that look of guilt for a hundred years. But there is no justice because we wouldn’t be having this conversation if there was. This confessional. And I wouldn’t be a virtual stranger to my son.
“Say something, please,” she whispers.
My finger plucks at my lip as I shake my head. “Honestly, I don’t know what to say. I don’t really know what to think.”
“I’m so, so sorry.” She presses her fist to her own mouth with a sharp inhale.
“Don’t do that. Like a candle, remember? Breathe slowly.”
She takes a couple of deep breaths, pushing them out slowly through pursed lips. “If I could turn the clock back, I would,” she says eventually, once she’s able.
“To eight years ago, or to half an hour? To walk away from me outside that stupid club, or to make sure you had your panic attack somewhere else?”
“I don’t know how you can ask me that. I would never change what’s happened because then I’d never have Wilder—”
“You mean, like me?” I jump up from the bed, slightly disturbed as she flattens herself against the brass headboard as though I’d been about to lunge for her. But fuck that noise—I refuse to feel sorry for her. She robbed me of my son on the word of some . . . jealous, delusional bitch. “I can’t believe you were so stupid,” I say, pacing the length of her bedroom. “To sit there and listen is bad enough, but to believe what she said?” I swing around to face her. “To tear up my contact details and let the wind carry them the fuck away?”
“I know. God, I know I was stupid. But I thought she was telling the truth!” she yells pitifully. “April saw the text, and I trusted her.”
“Am I supposed to be flattered? That my cock is so memorable that you’d know it from a line of others. Because it wasn’t fucking mine!”
“She didn’t show it to me. Just to April. She had your number, and—”
“She didn’t get it from me! I didn’t send her one solitary text.”
“I know that now—but I was so hurt at the time. Then April said later one of your friends gave Chelsea your number, but it was too late by then. I’d already dumped my phone because, even after I tore up the paper, even after feeling so hurt, I didn’t trust myself not to call. I wanted you so much but I just couldn’t allow myself to believe that you wanted me.”
She sounds wretched, but I can’t think about her pain because I feel fucking sick.
“She plagued my fucking phone—sent me a tonne of texts, but I blew her off. As for how she had my number, there was a group chat. Anyone of them could’ve given it to her. When I got to the airport, I messaged the group to say I was going home. I didn’t say why but I didn’t want to just disappear like some arsehole. I didn’t think for one minute it would cause this . . . this shit.”
“I’m so sorry, Roman. All these years, this has eaten me alive. I’ve hated myself, but I still tried to lay the blame on you. And then you turned up and I couldn’t anymore. It’s why I never told anyone about you, because I screwed, because I was ashamed.”
“For all this time, I’ve blamed myself,” I grate out. “Not even knowing what I was missing out on.” I rake my hands through my hair, feeling like I could tear it out from the strands.
“I’m so, so sorry.”
“Did you not think to just pick up the phone and ask? You know, before you chucked it and your SIM? How was the night we spent together not enough proof for you?”
“How could it be? We were strangers.” Silent tears begin to roll down her cheeks.
“I thought you could see what that night meant to me. What you meant to me.” But how could she trust me when she can’t even trust herself? “And what about now? We’re not strangers now. Would you have ever told me if you hadn’t had the mother of all panic attacks? You’ve made yourself ill. You see that, don’t you?”
“Yes.” She ducks her head and swallows, her gaze unmoving from her lap. “These lies had to come out somehow. I’ve been so afraid. I have regretted my actions and hated myself for my cowardice. Please, will you let me make it up to you somehow? Please, Roman, just don’t leave me.”
The vulnerability in her words, and the way she looks at me. I want to forgive her. I want to take her in my arms. But I can’t bring myself to.