Page 184 of When the Storm Breaks
“I let that fear make all my decisions. I let it control everything.”
The pain in his voice is raw—exposing a version of him I don’t think I’ve ever seen.
And I know this isn’t just about Willow. It’s about Jules. About himself.
About the boy who was handed a secret he never asked for, and forced to carry a guilt that never belonged to him.
He was trapped. Backed into a corner. He never had a choice at all.
Do any of us, when the truth costs everything?
When I finally speak, my voice is steady—but the words hurt on the way out.
I can’t pretend I’m not angry. Can’t ignore how much it still wounds.
“So you just let me suffer? Let me believe I’d never know what happened to her?”
He flinches. But he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t try to justify it.
He just sits there, silent for a moment, then says quietly—
“I did.”
His voice is empty.
“I was selfish. I failed you. I failed Jules. I failed Willow.”
Before I even realize it, I’m shaking. Every emotion hits at once—love and betrayal, grief and disbelief. It all tears through me.
Everything in me screams to run. To shut him out before he can hurt me again. But my feet won’t move.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I won’t let them fall. Not in front of him. Not again.
“You let me get close,” I whisper. “Knowing I could never forgive you for this.”
It’s cold and bitter. But I can’t stop it.
His voice cracks.
“It was so selfish, Calla. I know that. But I wanted to keep you. I thought maybe, somehow, we could build something where neither of us had to suffer. Where it didn’t rain. Where the sun kept us warm every day.”
He swallows, the words breaking as they leave him.
“I didn’t want to lose you. And because of that… I lost myself.”
It sounds like he’s choking. Like saying it out loud is its own kind of punishment.
He shifts in his seat and straightens, like steeling himself is the only way to survive it.
“I tried to push you away. The second I realized who youwere—who Jules was to you—I told myself to stay back. That’s why I acted the way I did. I wanted to hate you.”
He lets out a bitter laugh. “But it didn’t work. You had to be so goddamn lovable.”
He sighs. “It wasn’t supposed to be you, Calla. But after months of storms… it’s fucking impossible to pretend the sun doesn’t exist.”
The way he says it hits me like a truth I’ve been avoiding. My heart stutters, questions forming even as the answers begin to take shape.
“The first few weeks without you were bad. I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. I almost showed up drunk at your door again—even knowing you were already gone.”
