That’s what I was doing, wasn’t it? Tearing everything down, making sure there was nothing left of him in this space.

A total renovation. Destruction before renewal.

“Yeah?” he said, nodding slowly. “And how’s that going?”

“Not done yet,” I replied.

Jamal nodded again “Okay. So…you got more work to do? How about we finish it later?”

I shook my head. “No. No, I can’t⁠—”

“Put it down,” he coaxed. “Please, Bev. You’re bleeding.”

“My heart is bleeding, yes.”

“No, Beverly… You’re actually bleeding.”

I looked down, blinking at my hands as if they didn’t belong to me. Blood smeared my palms, pooled in the creases of my fingers, and coated the handle of the axe.

I stared at it, horrified, the pain setting in all at once. “Jamal,” I said slowly. “I’m bleeding.” He took another careful step forward. I stared at him, then back at my hands. “I’m… I’m bleeding,” I repeated, dazed, as if I needed him to confirm it.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know.”

I blinked rapidly, willing the pain away, but everything felt wrong. The sound of the axe splitting wood echoed in my ears, blending with my father’s voice telling me he loved me and the sound of Blake’s footsteps as he walked away.

“He left,” I choked out. “I hate him,” I lied. “He just… He—” My breath hitched painfully. “I tried to stop him, Jamal. I tried, but he just… He just left me.” The axe slipped from my fingers.

It hit the floor with a dull thud, and then Jamal was there, pulling me against him before I could collapse.

“Hey,” he murmured, kicking the axe away. “It’s okay.”

“I hate him,” I lied again, forcing the words out as if saying them would make them true. But this time, my voice broke completely, and the words came out like a plea.

“I know, Bev.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“You did nothing wrong,” he whispered, holding me tighter. “You hear me? Nothing.”

“I wasn’t worth it.” I clutched desperately at his shirt, my injured hand smearing blood across the fabric. “He didn’t care.”

His grip tightened. “That’s not true.”

“Then why did he leave?”

Jamal didn’t have an answer.

“He didn’t even glance back,” I croaked out.

Jamal let out a sharp breath. He said nothing. He just held me, his chin resting against my head.

“I know,” he murmured finally. “I know.”

I let go then—let the last of my strength drain from me. Unashamed, I buried my face in Jamal’s neck, let myself tremble in his arms, and cried so hard I could barely breathe.

I didn’t know how long we stood there. Time blurred between my shaking breaths and the quiet murmur of his reassurances.

Eventually, I heard voices rising from downstairs.