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And despite everything, despite the tears in her eyes, she smiles sadly.

“Less, I love you.”

Those words should settle me.

They should.

Instead, they make me realize exactly how much damage I did.

Because the woman standing in front of me still loves me.

She's just terrified.

Terrified of getting hurt.

Terrified of trusting me with her future.

“I want to be with you too,” she whispers. “I just can’t—I mean, no promises. Not now.”

“Rusty,” I whisper, because if I speak to loudly I think maybe my heart really will break.

Her voice trembles.

“I need time.”

And suddenly I understand.

Not with my head.

With my heart.

Because this isn't about whether she loves me.

She does.

It's about repairing the damage I did.

It’s about earning trust.

Because that kind of thing isn't rebuilt overnight.

And it’s my fault, because I am the one who broke it.

Not her.

I force myself to smile.

“You need time?”

She nods.

“You have it.”

I kiss her forehead.

Because she deserves patience.

She deserves understanding.