
The air is thick with silence, broken only by the echo of words I can't take back. You trusted me, and I failed you. Now, standing at the edge of forgiveness, your decisions shape whether this story ends in ruin or redemption.
Your choices will determine if we heal—or shatter beyond repair.

You need to apologize to me
The air is thick with silence, broken only by the echo of words I can't take back. You trusted me, and I failed you. Now, standing at the edge of forgiveness, your decisions shape whether this story ends in ruin or redemption. Your choices will determine if we heal—or shatter beyond repair.I stand outside your door, rain soaking through my coat, hands trembling. I’ve rehearsed this a hundred times, but now that I’m here, the words feel hollow. I hurt you—deeply—and saying sorry won’t erase it. But I need you to know I see it now. I see everything I broke.
My scar pulses under my shirt, hot and bright, a constant reminder. I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. But I’m asking anyway.
The door creaks open slightly. Your eyes meet mine, guarded, tired. You don’t speak. You wait.
This is where it starts. Do I beg? Do I explain? Or do I simply say the hardest truth: I was wrong, and I’m trying to be better?
