"Sorry?" The word claws its way out, bitter as ash. "Do you have any idea how fucking useless that word is? Sorry doesn't mean shit. It doesn't fix the fact that I had to become Jake's parent when I was still a kid myself because you couldn't protect us." I lift the wine bottle, my laugh hollow. "This? And the sleeping pills? That was your solution?"

The realization hits me like a punch: no wonder I'm a fucking addict. The two people who raised me made sure I'd never stand a chance at being anything else.

I slam the bottle down.

"Sorry doesn't change anything, Mom." Every word rip something raw and jagged from inside me.

Unshed tears burn in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Not after years of holding myself together while everything threatened to shatter.

"You should've left," I spit. "You should've fucking left. I would've done everything to help you get out. But instead, you stayed. Every time he came crawling back with his bullshit apologies, you let him. You chose him and then forced me to play house." My voice cracks. "And do you know what that taught me? It taught me that I didn't matter. That the person who was supposed to love me the most couldn't even choose me."

Her shoulders shake with silent sobs, but I can't stop.

"I took every punch, every scream, every broken thing he threw at us. And for what? So I could grow up hating the person I had to become just to survive?"

She tries to speak, but no sound emerges.

I laugh bitterly.

"You don't get to cry. Not now. Not after everything."

Because no amount of tears will ever undo what you let happen to us.

To me.

For the first time in years, I've unleashed everything I'd buried to protect her. The air between us feels fractured beyond repair.

"Nate, I never wanted this for you. For Jake. I was scared. I thought⁠⁠—"

"Unbelievable. You're still trying to justify it."

Her words feel hollow as prayers in an empty room. "I'm sorry" has become her shield, a soft phrase meant to cover damage that words could never fix. Trust needs proof, and sorry needs change.

"It's not enough anymore," I say, my voice cracking. I grip the counter, knuckles white, using it to stay upright as the past threatens to pull me under. "Same shit, different day. I'm so fucking tired of this conversation. Nothing changes. It never does. I wouldn't be surprised if he was back in our lives in a week's time and we're all out here playing happy fucking family again."

I meet her tear-filled eyes.

"I'll never get my childhood back. That's gone. And right now, I don't know what's left of my future. So if my way of dealing with this doesn't look right to you, I don't care. I'm done caring about what looks right. I'm done caring, period."

It's a lie.