WILLOW'S POV.
I closed the door behind me and pressed my back against it, letting myself finally feel the weight of everything I’d just said. My body trembled, legs weak, like the world beneath me had shifted and I hadn’t noticed.
Every inch of me ached—my chest, my hands, my soul. My hands shook as they dropped to my lap, and for a moment, I just let myself breathe. Slow, shallow, jagged breaths that barely felt like life.
I had told him. Every secret, every memory, every shred of pain he had caused. And yet… my chest still felt like it was being crushed. Why did speaking the truth hurt this much?
I pressed my back against the door and closed my eyes, letting the silence swallow me. And then, like a cruel trick, the memory came, unbidden.
I saw him—Atlas—soft, careful, his hands gen
