Page 31 of I Do, You Don't
Sure.
At last I look at her. She hasn’t looked away. Her expression is unreadable, but her voice steadies. “Please, give me a chance. Forget about her. Move on. I’m sure she has.”
The thought of Lara with anyone else makes my jaw ache. The brutal truth crashes in, I hadn’t lost her back then. But now, I almost certainly have.
Delilah’s gaze darts to the door, then back to me. Desperation burns in her eyes.
“That’s what you don’t understand, Gideon. You both gave up on each other. I was the only one still fighting.”
“No.” The word tears out, my voice cracking. Even as I deny it, the truth scrapes against my ribs. I had given up. I hadn’t asked questions. I hadn’t waited. I just walked.
She senses the fracture, steps closer, her voice softening. “You didn’t fight for her. Not when it counted.”
I want to scream that she’s the one who twisted everything. But I won’t. I won’t give her that power. Not anymore.
I turn for the door. “Goodbye, Delilah.”
The slamthat follows is sharp, final, like a gavel falling.
Outside, the cold bites deep. The city stirs—horns, sirens, shadows slipping through the dark. Life moves on.
I left the love of my life at the altar.
Because I believed a lie.
But I won’t let that be the end.
I may not deserve her forgiveness, but I’ll earn the chance to ask for it.
And I’m coming for Lara like a tax return: inevitable, overdue, and fully accounted for.
Chapter 11
Gideon
Hands deep in my jacket pockets, I linger at the flower stall, watching the vendor arrange each bloom with care. The air smells of damp pavement, laced with the faint sweetness of crushed petals. A breeze stirs the lilies. The city hums behind me, cars, distant voices, the occasional horn, but none of it registers. Only the flowers. And Lara.
I already know how it’ll go. In my mind, I see her face when she opens the door, eyes wide, uncertain, then that flicker. The softening. Warmth rushing back. Just like before. The way she used to look at me, as if I’d hung stars in her sky. As if love like ours could bend the world.
I’ll remind her. Remind her of us.
I step closer, fingers brushing the petals. White. Clean. Familiar. Exactly like the ones I gave her on our first date. I remember that night: standing on her porch beneath a flickering bulb, her lips curving into a smile that could’ve lit the entire street.
Back then, I believed in us completely. We were meant to be. Nothing could pull us apart. It wasn’t grand gestures, it was how we fit together. Her eyes sparkling when she looked at me. Our laughter over stupid things. Her finishing my sentences, like she knew me better than anyone else. She did. She loved me.
That never changed.
I can fixthis. I have to.
My fingers skim the petals again. Honest. Fragile. These lilies are my apology, the only offering I’ve got. But they’ll be enough. I’ll make them enough.
My phone buzzes. I don’t check. It’s Delilah. Always her. Her chaos. Her distractions. I shove the phone back into my pocket and clench my jaw. She’s done enough. This isn’t her story anymore.
I pay the vendor with a muttered thanks, cradling the bouquet in the crook of my arm. A chill brushes my face as I step onto the sidewalk. The city fades until all that remains are my thoughts, and this bouquet.
I’m focused, no space for doubt. Lara loves me. She always has.
I walk with purpose. A father and daughter pass nearby, their laughter light and effortless. I smile. That could still be us. Lara and me. A family someday.
