Maxwell’s POV
Olivia’s room was exactly as I’d glimpsed it last night - warm and softly lit, with that sa golden glow from the lamp on the nightstand.
She sat on the edge of the bed, still holding her mug, looking small and fragile in that oversized sweater.
I looked around for sowhere to sit and found a small upholstered stool near the window. I pulled it closer to the bed and sat down, my legs still not quite steady enough for prolonged standing.
For a long mont, neither of us spoke.
The rain filled the silence.
"Olivia," I started, then stopped, not sure where to begin.
There was so much to say. So many apologies to make. So many truths to tell.
I took a breath and forced myself to start.
"I’m sorry," I said, the words feeling inadequate even as they left my mouth. "God, Olivia, I’m so sorry. For everything. For lying to you about who I was. For manipulating you. For treating you the way I did at work even while knowing who you were. For not telling you the truth from the very beginning."
She watched , her expression unreadable, her fingers wrapped tight around her mug.
"I was scared," I continued, the confession spilling out. "Terrified that if you rembered what happened when we were kids - if you rembered my cowardice, how I stood there and did nothing while your brother was arrested - you’d hate . And I couldn’t... I couldn’t bear the thought of finally finding you again only to have you look at with disgust. And I was crazy too. Fucking stupid for playing gas when I should’ve just co clean."
"So the gas continued," she said quietly.
"They continued," I agreed. "And I would be a liar if I said I didn’t enjoy doing it. Enjoy watching you struggle to be soone else when I knew the truth all along. And within , I didn’t want the gas to end. But as ti went on, I told myself I’d tell you the truth. Tomorrow. Next week, when the timing was right. But there was never a right ti. Or I was too much of a psychopath to make the ti right."
I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, my hands clasped together.
"Everything I did was wrong," I said. "The way I treated you as Oliver. The things I said. The control and manipulation. I was so consud by jealousy and fear and these feelings I didn’t know how to handle that I hurt the one person I’ve loved since I was twelve years old."
My voice cracked on the last words.
"I love you, Olivia," I said, looking up to et her eyes. "I have loved you for twenty years. You saved that day behind the library - not just from those bullies, but from the belief that I was worthless and alone and would never matter to anyone. You made want to be better. Be brave. Be soone worthy of the girl who’d promised to protect ."
Tears were burning in my eyes now, blurring my vision.
"But I failed," I whispered. "I failed to be brave when it counted. I failed to be honest when you deserved the truth. I failed to be the man you needed to be. And I’m so, so sorry."
I reached out, then stopped, my hand hovering in the air between us, not sure if I had the right to touch her.
"I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness," I said. "I know I’ve broken your trust in ways that might be impossible to repair. But I’m begging you - please. Please give a chance to make this right. To spend the rest of my life proving that I can be the man you deserve. That I can love you the way you should be loved - honestly, openly, without gas or manipulation or fear."
The words ran out, and I sat there, completely exposed, waiting for her response.
Waiting for her to tell to go to hell. To get out of her life. To never speak to her again.
Olivia was quiet for a long ti, staring down at her tea.
When she finally looked up, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"I forgive you," she said softly.
The words hit like a physical force.
"You... what?" I couldn’t have heard that right.
"I forgive you, Maxwell," she repeated, and a small, sad smile touched her lips. "For the lies. For the manipulation. For everything you did wrong. I forgive you. It’s not like I was completely honest either."
Joy exploded in my chest, so intense it was almost painful.
"Thank you," I breathed, the words coming out choked and desperate. "God, Olivia, thank you. I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I’ll be better. I’ll be honest. I’ll be everything you need. We can start over, do this right, build sothing real together. I’ll..."
"But I don’t think I can be with you."
The words were quiet. Gentle, even.
But they stopped cold, cutting through my rambling.
My heart, which had been soaring just seconds ago, plumted.
"What?" The word ca out barely a whisper.
Olivia set her mug down on the nightstand and folded her hands in her lap, not eting my eyes.
"I forgive you," she said again. "I understand why you did what you did. I understand the fear and the pain you were carrying. And I don’t hate you, Maxwell. I could never hate you."
She paused, taking a shaky breath.
"But forgiveness and trust are two different things," she continued, her voice soft but firm. "And I don’t... I don’t know if I can trust you anymore. I don’t know if I can build a relationship with soone who’s proven - over and over again - that they’ll lie to when they’re scared. That they’ll manipulate when they think they know what’s best for ."
"I won’t..." I started, desperate to interrupt, to promise, to fix this.
"You can’t promise that," she said, finally eting my eyes. "Because you don’t know what you’ll do when you’re scared. You’ve spent twenty years loving from a distance, building up in your head into this perfect ideal. But you don’t really know , Maxwell. And I don’t really know you. Not the real you."
"Then let show you," I pleaded, my voice breaking. "Let prove to you that I can be trusted. That I can be honest. Please, Olivia. Don’t give up on us before we’ve even had a real chance."
She smiled that sad, gentle smile again, and it broke sothing inside .
"I’m not giving up," she said. "I’m just... being realistic. We’ve hurt each other so much already. And I need ti. Space. Ti to figure out everything without all this chaos and manipulation and drama. Ti to heal."
"And the baby?" I forced myself to ask.
Her hand moved unconsciously to her stomach, a protective gesture that made my chest ache.
"I’m keeping the baby," she said quietly. "That decision has nothing to do with you. This is my choice, and I’m making it for ."
Relief and agony warred inside .
She was keeping our baby. But she didn’t want .
"Can I..." I had to pause, had to swallow past the lump in my throat. "Can I at least be part of the baby’s life? Even if you don’t want in yours?"
"Of course," she said, and there was surprise in her voice, like she couldn’t believe I’d even ask. "You’re the father. You have every right to be involved. I would never keep our child from you."
"But not as a couple," I said, needing to confirm it, needing to hear her say it explicitly even though the words would destroy .
"Not as a couple," she agreed. "Not right now. Maybe not ever. I don’t know, Maxwell. I just... I need ti to figure out what I want. What kind of life I want to build."
She reached out and took my hand, her fingers warm and soft against mine.
"You saved my life last night," she said gently. "You almost died trying to save . That ans sothing. It ans you’re not the monster you think you are. But it doesn’t an we’re ant to be together."
I stared down at our joined hands, watching tears fall from my face and land on her fingers.
Everything I’d wanted. Everything I’d worked for. Everything I’d dread about for twenty years.
So close I could almost taste it.
And slipping through my fingers like water.
"I love you," I whispered, because it was the only truth I had left. "I will always love you."
"I know," she said softly. "And maybe that’s enough. For now."
But we both knew it wasn’t.
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