I'll always care, even when I don't want to.

The truth is simpler: I'm tired. Bone-deep, soul-shattering tired. Tired of the beatings—physical, emotional, and everything between. Tired of broken promises and pain that clings like a second skin.

"I'll never stop being sorry, Nate," she whispers, wiping tears with her sleeve. "I should have done more to protect you. Just… tell me what you need from me."

I stare at her—the woman who should have been my shield—and feel hollow. "I need space."

"Nate, please⁠⁠—"

"If you want to salvage whatever's left between us," I cut her off, my voice quiet but firm, "then stop. Now. Before I say something I really can't take back."

She starts toward the door, then stops. From a kitchen drawer, she pulls out a folder and drops it on the counter.

"I've filed for divorce." Her voice wavers. "You're right, I should've done it years ago, but… I'm doing it now. I didn't protect you when you needed me most. Even if I… I had my reasons, I should have done better for you, for Jake. For us."

I keep my face unreadable. "Then tell Jake. Don't let him find out about this on his own."

She nods, broken determination in her eyes, and leaves. In the emptiness that follows, I sink to the floor, head in my hands.

For the first time in years, I let the tears threaten to fall.

I drag myself upstairs, exhausted and strung out. At Nora's door, I hesitate, my hand hovering over the handle. It takes every ounce of control not to go in, not to kiss her again, not to lose myself in her like before. I force myself onward.

In my room, I collapse onto the bed, mind spinning.

I kissed her.

I kissed Nora.

And it was everything I've wanted, everything I've never let myself imagine. The memory overwhelms me—the warmth of her breath, her lips fitting against mine as if they were made for me. I can't stop wondering how her skin would feel under my hands, how she'd taste if I kissed her deeper, pulled her closer, made her mine. I want her in ways I don't know possible. But reality's cold weight settles in, familiar as breathing. Good things don't last in my life. They either slip away or I destroy them first.

I do what I've always done: push people away, keep them at arm's length, shield myself from inevitable hurt. It's safer that way—for me, for her.

43. Seventeen

CHAPTER 43

SEVENTEEN

NORA

Seventeen feels different than I expected—there's a strange ache, both comforting and terrifying. Before dawn breaks, I'm pounding the pavement, each footfall echoing the rhythm of my racing thoughts. The cool morning air bites at my exposed skin, but I barely notice. I can't shake him. Thoughts of last night circle around me, pressing heavily against my chest.

I kissed Nate.

And he kissed me back.