C
hris bit down on his lip, fighting the words clawing to escape. He wanted to tell her the truth that it wasn't just Derek, that his own blood had led Derek back to her. But fear of losing her forever kept him silent.
And that silence was already costing him.
It started like any other day.
Susan lay in the room, boredom gnawing at her, until she couldn't take it anymore. She needed to move, to do something. She wandered toward Chris's home office, hand halfway to knocking then froze.
"I can't tell her."
Chris's muffled voice seeped through the door.
Her brows knit. Tell me what?
"It's breaking you apart, man. She'll understand," Michael's voice followed, steady but urgent. "You fought for her. I don't like seeing you like this."
"I can't," Chris muttered, low and tense. "Stephanie's lawyer reached out again. She wants to plead innocent says she didn't know what Aunt May was up to, that she only escorted her to buy the car that day. Nothing else."
Susan's stomach dropped. The car.
Her blood ran cold. Derek had talked about some women who helped him with a car. Now it all fit, the guilt, the distance, the careful kindness. Chris wasn't guilty out of love. He was guilty because his own family had handed her over to a monster.
The world tilted under her feet. She didn't even hear the door creak open.
"Susan?" Michael's voice jolted her.
Her head snapped up. Chris's eyes locked with hers. He knew, she knew.
"Let me explain…."
She shook her head sharply, silencing him, then turned and walked away, each step heavy.
Chris stood rooted, torn between chasing her and giving her space. In the end, he chose silence. If she walked out of his life, he would let her. It was no less than he deserved.
In the room, Susan paced. Confusion tangled with betrayal. Why had Aunt May gone that far? Why hadn't Chris told her? A part of her wanted to bolt, to protect herself before she drowned in another storm. But Chris wasn't Derek. He had stood against his aunt for her. He had fought for her.
She wasn't unreasonable. But she was hurt.
When she stepped back out, Chris was waiting, Michael long gone. He rose at the sound of the door, every line of his body tight.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice was steady, but her eyes searched him.
He studied her like a man watching a storm roll in. "I didn't know how. And I didn't want you angry at me."
Her sigh caught him off guard. No screaming. No tears. Just quiet, weighted disappointment.
"I won't lie, I feel a certain way about all of this. But I'm not stupid. I see your innocence, Chris. I see how hard you tried to make amends."
Her words, calm and measured, only twisted the knife deeper. Instead of relief, suspicion flared.
"What are you saying?" His voice was flat, emotionless.
"That we let this stay behind us. And move forward."
"That's it?" He snapped, defensive, almost desperate.
Her brows arched. "What else is there to say?"
"Your mind," he growled. "Tell me how you really feel."
She frowned, stepping back as he advanced. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you weren't pleased with my reaction."
"No one is that good." His eyes burned into her. "No one forgives this easily."
She let out a short, humourless laugh. "Maybe the women around you were demons. But some of us have lived through worse. Cheap guilt and lies aren't the end of the world."
"Don't talk to me like that." His voice was sharp.
"Then stop acting like a coward," she shot back. "If you want this over, say it. Don't pick stupid fights to push me away."
His jaw tightened; his breath rough. "Is that what you want? To end this? To leave me? Fine. That's better than pretending to be okay and stabbing me in the back later."
Susan stared at him, disbelief flashing in her eyes. Was this Chris? The man who had fought tooth and nail for her? Or a man too broken by guilt to recognize grace when it was handed to him? No, he was that man, the one his ex-made, she doesn't feel her explaining more will do anything to change his mind at that moment.
"You know where to find me," she said at last, her voice steady, final. "When you're ready to have a real conversation like an adult."
She turned and walked away; her steps certain even as her heart cracked.
Chris stood frozen. Dread clawed at him until it spilled out of his body. He spun, fist slamming into the frame on the wall. Glass shattered, splintering like the silence she left behind.
Michael stared at Chris across the table, his gaze fixed on the bandage wrapped around his friend's hand. Chris sat rigid, face hard, pretending to ignore him.
"I'm still waiting for a word, you know," Michael finally broke the silence.
Chris exhaled sharply. "She left. It's over."
Michael blinked, then frowned. "What do you mean "she left, it's over?" His voice rose, disbelief laced with anger.
Chris's jaw flexed. "Exactly what I said."
"You're unbelievable." Michael leaned forward; his tone sharp. "She was more graceful than anyone else would've been and you blew it. You've got trust issues the size of a mountain, Chris. I thought you worked through that shit years ago."
"If you don't have anything…."
"Don't even try to cut me off." Michael's voice was cold, steady. "You're sitting here playing tough while your hand looks like it went through glass, and I can see how much this is killing you. Stop lying to yourself."
Chris shut his laptop with a snap, irritation flickering across his face. "Better now than later, when I'm more invested…."
Michael slammed a palm down on the table. "You are invested! You're so far gone for her it's pathetic, and it's written all over you. Look at yourself." He pointed at the bandaged hand. "You're already bleeding for her."
Chris stood abruptly, muttering, "I don't have time for this," and walked out, but his chest felt tight. The weight of Susan's absence pressed harder with every step, but his pride his damn pride wouldn't let him admit it.