I’d walked away that day four years ago because I thought I was doing the right thing. Because I thought I was too much for her—too angry, too reckless, too damaged. I’d convinced myself she deserved better.
And maybe she did.
But I should’ve stayed. I should’ve fought. I should’ve been there for her.
And now I was standing here, in her brother’s house, listening to the man who wasn’t me calling her “baby,” acting like he had any f*****g right to her.
I gritted my teeth.
I made a mistake back then.
But this time?
This time I was done walking away.
This time I would f*cking fight for her.
“No. We’ll talk before we eat—whatever it is you think we need to talk about,” she snapped, her voice sharp with frustration.
I heard her footsteps approaching, heels tapping against the floor wi
