“I don’t want to hurt you.” He gives me a small, resigned smile, but there’s no real heartbreak in it—just acceptance. “I think you’ve been hurting for a while now,” he says quietly. “And maybe I’ve been too comfortable to notice. Or maybe I just didn’t want to.” He lets out a shallow breath. “We had a good run, Ari.” A sharp pang twists in my ribs. I reach for his hand, squeezing gently, and for the first time in a long time, we’re not pretending. We both know how this ends.
