We spoke once, weeks later, over coffee.
“I used to think love meant not asking questions,” she said. “Thank you for proving me wrong.”
I smiled. “You didn’t need saving. You just needed truth.”
My life settled into something gentler. I moved apartments. Took a job that challenged me without consuming me. I slept better. Laughed more. I stopped flinching at my phone.
One evening, as the sun dipped low and the city hummed quietly outside my window, I deleted the recording.
Some evidence is only meant to be used once.
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