(William’s POV)
The sting of gravel seared through my knees, pain spreading upward, but I refused to rise up. Not when her back turned.
Not even when her footsteps grew faint and I was sure she had returned into the house. Not even when the wind swept through the garden, carrying the scent of mango leaves and rotten fruits.
I stayed on my knees as though some part of me still hoped she would return, that she might see me here, stripped of all arrogance and pretense, and find something in it worth loving and forgiving. But she never returned.
And as time ticked on and the silence grew louder, shame settled in again—this time carrying a sharper sting of regret and anguish. Why hadn’t I told her sooner? Why had I waited this long, only to strain the love we had worked so hard to nurture?
