For a moment, neither of us moved.
The words hung there—You knew—stretching the air thin between us, pressing down until I could barely breathe.
I opened my mouth. Closed it again.
Then, somehow, I found the strength to nod.
Just once.
Mark's eyes didn't change—not in the way I'd prayed they might. There was no softening. No relief. Only devastation, raw and unfiltered, crashed over his face's sharp lines.
He took a step back like the admission physically struck him.
"I thought we were done pretending," he said, voice low and brittle.
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat nearly choking me. "Mark, I—"
He shook his head once, sharply. "No. Don't—" His hands flexed at his sides, as if he didn't trust himself to stay still. "Don't spin it. Just tell me why."
The floor felt unsteady beneath my feet.
