CLAYTON'S P.O.V
“I'll be waiting for you at the gazebo,” I said and softly clicked the door shut
I stood outside her room for another minute or two, listening to the soft rustling as she likely scrambled to pull herself together.
It made my chest tighten. Again
The way she cried and kept apologizing, I was ready to pull the door down if she hadn't opened it.
It wasn't just embarrassment—even though she had no reason to be.
Her tears were born from years of breaking; it was the kind that came from someone who was chastised too much, who had been made to believe that they were small and insignificant.
I recognized that kind of broken. I had lived like that before...before she came into my life and filled it with rays of sunshine.
Now years have passed, and our places are reversed.
