“Then what is it? You just fell out of love with me in a matter of twenty days? All the other thousands of days didn’t mean anything?” she demands.

I hesitate before blowing out a breath. “You don’t feel like there’s always been something missing between us? Like, we just haven’t been able to dig deep enough?”

She grits her teeth. “What the hell does that mean? You asked me to marry you, Dean. I assumed you had done your digging.”

“Fuck, I don’t know. I think I was just comfortable… everything had become routine and easy, you know? I’m close with your parents, we have the same friends, Blizzard…” I trail off, closing my eyes for a moment to regroup. “Change is fucking scary, Mandy. I cared about you, we had history, and on paper we fit just fine. It didn’t seem worth it to throw it all away.”

“So, what’s different?”

“Change was forced on me. I was forced to rot for three weeks in a serial killer’s basement, and it really put shit in perspective.”

Mandy taps her foot against the carpet restlessly, her long nails digging into the flesh of her arms. “It’s great to know you were down there thinking about how you couldn’t wait to break up with me.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” I take a small step closer to her. “Jesus, Mandy, I’ve tried to give this time. I thought I just needed to clear my head and work through all the bullshit. I’ve spent countless hours wondering how I can fix this and make it work. I want it to work, but…” I throw my hands up with defeat. “We don’t fit anymore.”

Tears spill from her eyes, smudging her perfectly applied makeup. Her eyes are level with my chest, unable to meet my guilty gaze. Mandy runs her fingers through her hair, tugging it back and cradling the nape of her neck as she tries to control her grief. “Fifteen years. Fifteen years of my life wasted on you.”

God.

I’m an asshole.

A giant, fucking asshole.

“You want to know what I was doing while you were down in that basement, thinking about how much we don’t fit and “bonding” with my sister?” She finally lifts her eyes to me and they narrow with disdain. “I was making flyers. I was leading search parties. I was on the phone with police, with friends and relatives, with your mortgage company and utility providers letting them know your payments might be late… with fucking wedding coordinators begging them not to cancel our date because you were coming home.” Her cheeks are bright red, flushed with scorn. “I was driving around town looking for your car every single day. I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. All I did was cry and look for you, praying for you to be okay… picturing you standing at the end of that aisle.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, cupping a hand over my mouth and breathing deep. I know there’s nothing I can say to make this better. I know there’s nothing I can do to lessen her pain or make her understand. I can’t go back in time and tell her to stay the fuck away from me because I’m only going to break her heart one day.