Page 43 of Before Broken Vows

"What?" I say and clear my throat. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't." He takes a step closer, and I can't help but flinch. "Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. I heard you."

I try to keep my face neutral, but inside, my thoughts are screaming. He heard me on the phone. He heard me saying I'd be home soon. Telling someone I loved them.

And now, he's jumped to the wrong conclusion.

"'I miss you… I'll be home soon… I love you,'" he repeats in a low mockery of my voice.

The silence between us stretches dangerously. I'm so flustered and caught off guard, playing dumb was my only defense, and now I can't even do that. What I've been working on since leaving Los Angeles. How to tell him. It's all for nothing.

"And the best part?" He laughs, a hollow, broken sound. "You said I don't suspect anything yet."

Oh God.

I close my eyes briefly. I need to be careful here. So careful.

"Look, I?—"

"Are you going to deny it?" he demands, stepping closer and towering over me.

"No," I sigh. "I was on the phone. You heard what you heard."

After countless hours of practicing, deciding how to say it, I'm just so tired now.

"Who is it? Huh?" His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching. "Who were you talking to?"

I wrap my arms around myself. "Theo," I say, my voice softer now. "Please,” I pause and then look up at him, "I don't want to hurt you all over again."

The silence that follows is deafening. He just stares at me, processing, his breathing carrying a ragged edge to it.

"You lost me the day you left," he says finally. "And I'm done playing games. Done waiting."

He steps closer, leaving almost no room between us.

"You walk around this house like a fucking ghost. You won't speak unless I press you. You won't let me in—so don't act shocked you can't hide out until you're the one ready to talk."

He's right. Of course he's right.

"And now I overhear you on the phone. With..." he scoffs and shakes his head, "Was any of it real, Stassi? Or was I just convenient protection until you could run back to whoever the fuck is waiting for you?"

I can feel something crack inside me—the wall I've carefully maintained for four years, the one I reinforced every time I wanted to call him, every time I missed him so badly I couldn't breathe.

"Theo," I try, but my voice breaks.

"Were you even in trouble? Or was that just a way to manipulate me into letting you stay?"

And suddenly, I see it all so clearly. Every moment I stayed silent. Every time I deflected his questions. Every opportunity I had to tell him the truth but chose fear instead.

I did this.

My refusal to say the words made space for his worst fears to grow.

"You're right," I say, and the first tear slides down my cheek. "I've been avoiding the truth. I've been—" I swallow hard, the tears come faster now, "I didn't leave because I stopped loving you."

Something flickers in his eyes—confusion, maybe hope—quickly buried under suspicion.

"Then why?" His voice is lower now.