"Yes."
Just that one word. Soft. Steady. Unshaken.
It cuts through the air with more finality than a slap or a scream ever could. There's no hesitation in his voice—no struggle, no search for meaning. Just certainty. Calm certainty. And somehow, that hurts worse.
Like he's known all along. Like he's already grieved it. Already forgiven it. While I've been sitting here thinking I could still pretend.
My fingers clutch the edge of the blanket pulled over my lap, knuckles whitening as if I could ground myself through pressure alone. I can't meet his eyes. I don't even try. My vision drifts toward the floor, toward the quiet space between us that suddenly feels like a canyon.
There's nowhere left to run. Nothing else to hide behind. The weight of being seen—truly seen—settles over me like snowfall. Quiet. Cold. Heavy.
