Annabelle’s lips trembled, but no sound escaped them. Derek’s words—raw, vulnerable, and cutting—hung in the air like a blade suspended above them both. She opened her mouth to speak, but Derek’s head tilted slightly, as if bracing for whatever she might say.
Finally, she whispered, “I don’t even know what to say to that.”
Derek’s grip on his cane tightened, his knuckles pale. “Say something, Annabelle. Anything. Even if it’s to tell me I’m wrong.” His voice dropped, a dangerous edge threading through the softness. “I don’t care if it hurts. I just need to know.”
She took a step back, her pulse racing. “You don’t care if it hurts? Then why does it feel like everything between us has already been painful, Derek? Why are you only saying this now, after everything—”
“Because I didn’t know
