Page 105 of Robbin’ the Rich

Did it mean trusting him again?

Did it mean accepting that good people sometimes hurt each other?

The longer I thought about it, the more one uncomfortable truth kept surfacing. I still didn't know if I could trust my own judgment. That changed everything. If I couldn’t trust myself, how on earth could I trust anyone else, especially him?

And until that changed, forgiveness felt impossible.

"No."

The word left my mouth quietly.

Micah looked like I'd punched him.

I watched the answer land in real time. His shoulders dropped. His jaw went slack. For a second he closed his eyes entirely, as though he needed a moment to absorb the impact before continuing. When he opened them again, the hope that had been stubbornly hanging on since he arrived seemed noticeably dimmer.

Still, he nodded. Just accepting it.

"Okay."

Silence settled over the room again before he spoke.

"So, what does that mean?"

I stared at him. Part of me couldn't believe he was asking. Another part knew exactly why. Neither of us had ever actually said the words out loud. The relationship had simply existed. It had grown and expanded and worked its way into every corner of our lives so naturally that we'd never stopped to define it.

Now we were being forced to.

"What do you think it means?"

His face tightened. The answer had clearly occurred to him already. He just hadn't wanted to hear it from me. The realization made me feel cruel. Unfortunately, it didn't make me wrong.

"It means we're done." I took a shuttering breath but forced myself to keep going. "I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to wonder what you're not telling me. I don't want to spend every conversation trying to figure out which parts are true and which parts are missing." The tears threatened again. I ignored them. "It means I don't want to see you anymore."

For a moment I thought he might argue or plead, but instead he simply sat there looking at me. The grief on his face was almost unbearable.

Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet.

It was as if words gathered behind his eyes, but he remained quiet instead. His hand lifted slightly, and for one awful second, I thought he was going to reach for me. The gesture died before it fully formed. Instead, he scrubbed a hand across his face and let out a long breath. The resignation in that sound hurt more than anger ever could.

"I'm sorry." His voice was rough. "I know that doesn't fix anything."

I looked away. Because if I kept looking at him, I was afraid I'd start second-guessing myself.

"And I know you probably don't want to hear it anymore." He swallowed. "But I am."

The apartment felt impossibly small. Micah glanced toward the door, then back at me. For a second neither of us moved.

"I'll leave you alone."

He headed for the door, and a tiny part of me ached to call him back. But it was just a small, desperate voice buried beneath the anger and disappointment and hurt.

But wanting something and trusting it were not the same thing.

So, I stayed where I was.

I listened to the door open and close.

The sound echoed through the apartment.