Page 104 of Magical Moonbeam
He shifted his weight. “I didn’t think it would matter anymore.”
“It doesn’t,” I snapped, even though that was only mostly true. “But you don’t get to lurk outside a café like some lost soul from my past and then act like showing up here unannounced is normal.”
His mouth opened, then closed. One hand rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly.
I crossed my arms. “So you came to what? Wish me luck?”
He exhaled. “I came because I was curious. And maybe because I thought it was time.”
“Time for what, Alex? For you to pop back into my life like a seasonal allergy?”
That landed. His jaw ticked.
I took a step back, arms still crossed, heart pounding against the cage of ribs I hadn’t realized was made of grief and fury and a few shards of hope I thought I’d burned clean.
“You cheated on me,” I said, voice low and steady. “And then you lied about it. Over and over. And when the truth cracked through, you made it about me. My fault. For being distracted. For growing. Do you remember that? Because I do.”
He looked away.
“Maeve, I—”
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t apologize unless it’s for real. Don’t say you regret it unless you mean it. And don’t pretend this—” I gestured between us, the air thick with unspoken things “—was ever going to be salvaged.”
He swallowed hard. “I didn’t expect you to forgive me.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I’m not sure I have.”
I was trembling now, but not from fear. From release and the way truth cut cleaner than magic when you finally said it aloud.
For a long time, I had wondered what I’d say if I saw him again. I’d imagined all kinds of poetic justice. A speech. A slap. A spell.
Turns out, the truth was more than enough.
He let out a breath. “You’ve changed.”
“I had to.”
There was a beat. “You’re doing well. I can tell.”
I didn’t return the smile. “You don’t get to take pride in that.”
His eyes flickered. He nodded. “You’re right.”
“I know.”
I took another breath. My fingers had unclenched. My heart had stopped trying to escape my chest. Somewhere inside, something had loosened. A knot I didn’t realize I’d been dragging around for months. Maybe years.
“So what now?” I asked. “You saw what you needed to see? You ready to head back to whatever life you built for yourself after ours imploded?”
That one hit. I saw it.
I had turned halfway back toward the café when the question bubbled up from somewhere deep and unfinished in me, but I didn’t want to bother.
“There’s one more thing.” His voice choked a little.
I paused, glanced over my shoulder.
“What?”
