I looked at him.
He was sitting there with stitches in his chest,
and somehow he still managed to look at me like an older brother about to tell me the truth I had avoided.
“You left, Ethan,” he said. “I know you were hurting. I know you thought you were doing the right thing. But you left. Whatever Sophie did afterward, she did because she believed she couldn’t depend on you.”
I wanted to argue.
I wanted to defend myself.
But the words wouldn’t come.
Because deep down, I knew Mark was right.
He sighed. “That doesn’t mean you can’t show up now. But don’t show up expecting forgiveness just because you’re scared.”
I looked toward the window, at the city beyond the hospital glass.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Start small,” he said. “And stay consistent.”
After leaving Mark’s room, I walked two blocks in the cold wind to find the tea shop. I bought peppermint tea, honey sticks, a
