“I stopped it,” he cried. “I stopped the ceremony. People are freaking out, Jessica is yelling, her mom is—” He inhaled shakily. “I don’t care. I can’t do it. Not like this. Not… not by erasing you.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“I didn’t know,” he whispered. “Or maybe I did and I tried not to. But that contract—Mom, I wrote that. That was me. That was who I was supposed to be.”
I swallowed hard. “Liam…”
“I’m coming,” he said. “Right now. Please don’t—please don’t hate me.”
Fifteen minutes later, there was frantic knocking at my door.
When I opened it, Liam stood there in his suit, hair half-windblown, face blotchy with tears.
His hands were trembling.
And in his grip, like it was the only thing holding him upright, was that folded construction-paper promise.
He looked at me the way he did when he was little and had skinned his knee—like he needed me to tell him he wasn’t beyond saving.
“I brought it,” he said hoarsely, holding it out. “Because I didn’t want you to think it was just… a moment.”
I stared at the childish letters.
I will never be ashamed.
Something inside me surged—hurt, love, grief, pride—all tangled together.
He took a step closer and dropped to his knees right there on my threshold.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. I let them convince me it wasn’t a big deal. I let myself believe you’d understand because you always do.”
