Reckoning

The rain had been relentless, pounding against the windows, a symphony of sorrowful beats that matched the turmoil swirling inside me. I stood by the window, staring out at the gray sky, watching as the world blurred beneath the downpour. The storm outside mirrored the storm within me chaotic, violent, unforgiving.

I could hear the faint hum of voices behind me, but it felt as though the world was closing in. The once-comforting walls of this place now felt suffocating. My hands trembled slightly, the nerves crawling under my skin, but I couldn't let it show. Not now. Not when everything had come down to this moment.

Two years. It had been two years since I walked away, two years since I signed that divorce decree and left everything behind. And now, here I was again, on the cusp of the very thing I'd sworn to avoid—facing him.

His voice echoed in my mind, a sound that I had once craved but now loathed.

"You can't escape me."

I had heard that before. But this time, it was different. This time, I was the one in control. The power had shifted.

A soft knock at the door broke my reverie. I turned, my breath catching as I faced the man standing in the doorway. His eyes—dark, intense—met mine. His jaw was clenched, his posture rigid, as though every fiber of his being was trying to hold onto something—something that was slipping away.

"You're here," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

I couldn't bring myself to say anything immediately. I studied him, as though seeing him for the first time in years. The man who had once been everything to me, and yet, had never truly seen me. The man who had shattered my world and left me to pick up the pieces.

"You haven't signed it, have you?" I asked, my voice steady but colder than I felt.

His eyes flickered. There was something—regret, perhaps—lurking beneath his hardened exterior, but it quickly vanished. He took a step toward me, and I instinctively took a step back, my heart racing in my chest.

"Don't act like you don't care," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You owe me more than this."

I shook my head slowly, the memories of our past rushing to the surface. The late nights spent in cold silence, the moments when I had begged him to see me, to love me. The love I had given him had always been one-sided. He had never seen me, never cherished me. Not like he had cherished her.

"I'm done," I said quietly, my resolve hardening.

"You think it's that easy?" His voice cracked, and I could see the battle raging within him. "You think you can just walk away? You vowed to love me, in good times and bad. Don't you remember? You promised me."

I felt a flicker of something—a pang in my chest—but I buried it quickly. No. I couldn't allow myself to be weak. Not now.

"I remember," I said, each word a steel blade. "I remember every moment, every broken promise. You never loved me. Not truly. You were always too busy loving her."

The words hit harder than I expected. His face twisted, as though he had been slapped, and for a moment, I felt a rush of satisfaction.

"You don't understand," he said, his voice ragged now, almost pleading. "She—she's different. You don't know what it's like to be with someone who makes you feel alive. You can't replace that."

I wanted to scream, to yell that I had given him everything, that I had sacrificed everything for him, and yet he had chosen her over and over. But instead, I just stood there, cold and indifferent, staring at the man who had once been my world.

"Maybe that's your problem," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "You've always needed someone to make you feel alive, but you never bothered to see that I was already here, fighting for you, even when you didn't deserve it."

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he might say something else—something to make me doubt myself, to make me second-guess my decision. But he didn't.

Instead, he took another step forward, and this time, I didn't back away.

"Do you love her?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

He paused, his chest rising and falling as though he was struggling to breathe. His eyes searched mine, and I could see the vulnerability beneath his defiance. But it was fleeting. He looked away, as though he couldn't answer.

"I thought you were the one," I whispered, more to myself than to him. "I thought we were meant to be. But I was wrong."

He reached out, his hand trembling as he cupped my face. His touch was familiar and warm, and it stirred something in me—something I hadn't realized I was still capable of feeling for him.

But then, I closed my eyes, forcing myself to remember why I was here. Why I had walked away in the first place.

"You need to let me go," I said softly, pulling away from him. "You need to let me live my life. Let me move on. We're done. We were never meant to be."

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. The storm outside raged on, the sound of the rain hammering against the windows filling the emptiness between us.

And then, slowly, he nodded. His eyes were hollow, his face a mask of defeat.

"I should've fought for you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "But I didn't. And now it's too late."

I didn't answer him. There was nothing left to say. No more words that could fix what had been broken.

He turned to leave, but before he did, he looked back at me one last time.

"I won't forget you," he said quietly, his voice filled with regret.

I didn't respond. I didn't need to.

As he walked away, I felt a strange sense of finality settle over me. The weight that had been on my shoulders for so long seemed to lift, just a little. And in that moment, I realized that this was the end. The end of us. The end of the lies. The end of everything that had once been.

I was free.