People sometimes assume not forgiving someone means you believe their apology is fake.
I believed Claire regretted everything.
I believed she was ashamed.
I believed she'd learned something terrible about herself.
None of that required me to take her back.
"Okay," I said.
Her eyes widened.
That word again.
"Okay?"
"I hear you."
"Can we talk?"
"We are."
"No, really talk."
"About what?"
"Us."
"There is no us."
"Don't say that."
"It's true."
"Four years don't disappear because of one terrible week."
"No."
I nodded.
"They disappear because of the choices that led to the terrible week."
Claire reached through the gap as far as the chain allowed.
I stepped back.
She noticed.
That hurt her.
"You loved me."
"I did."
"Then how can you be this cold?"
I thought about that.
"I'm not cold."
My voice almost broke.
"I'm protecting whatever's left."
She started crying again.
"I love you."
I looked at her.
Three weeks earlier, those words could have changed my entire day.
Now they felt almost weightless.
"I don't believe you in the way I used to."
"Daniel."
"We're done."
"No."
"Yes."
"We can fix this."
"I don't want to."
That sentence devastated her more than anything else I'd said.
Because until then, she seemed to believe the decision still belonged to her.
She had left.
She could return.
She had broken us.
She could decide to repair us.
But relationships require two yeses and only one no.
Now mine was no.
"I'll go to therapy."
"I hope you do."
"I'll do anything."
"Do it for yourself."
"I don't want anybody else."
"You did last week."
She flinched.
I immediately regretted the cruelty in the line, but I didn't take it back.
"We're done," I repeated.
"Please."
"Don't contact me again."
Her expression shifted from grief to disbelief.
"What?"
"I mean it."
"You can't be serious."
"I am."
"You'd get a restraining order against me?"
"If you keep showing up, yes."
Claire stared.
Then anger appeared.
Sometimes grief becomes anger when it realizes begging isn't working.
"So that's it?"
"Yes."
"You throw me away?"
"I didn't throw you away."
My voice remained quiet.
"You left."
"I came back!"
"Because the other option collapsed."
Her face twisted.
"That's not fair."
"It's exactly fair."
"You're enjoying this."
"No."
"You are."
"I'm not."
"You're glad I suffered."
"I wish none of this happened."
"You're punishing me."
"Claire."
"No, you are. You're punishing me because your ego got hurt."
That sentence removed the final piece of hesitation I had.
I looked at her.
"Your things are in unit 212."
I began closing the door.
She grabbed the outside edge.