The diner smelled like burnt coffee and cheap regret. He stirred his drink absentmindedly, watching her across the table. She wouldn’t look at him, her eyes fixed on something outside.

“So, that’s it?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

She shrugged, her fingers tracing patterns on the napkin in front of her. “What do you want me to say?”

He leaned forward, lowering his voice like that might pull her back in. “I want you to be honest.”

Honesty. He wasn’t sure why he said that. He already knew the truth—the tension between them, the distance that had grown like a crack in the foundation, widening every time they tried to patch it. But he couldn’t let it go, couldn’t shake the feeling that if she’d just say something real, something raw, they might be able to fix this.

Her shoulders stiffened. “I don’t think you’d like my honesty.”

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay calm. He hated how she could do this to him—pull the ground out from under him with just a few words, leave him scrambling to make sense of what went wrong. It wasn’t always like this. He thought about the way she used to smile at him, the way her laugh used to light up the room. She used to need him. Or at least, it felt like she did.

“Do you ever think about how we ended up here?” she asked, breaking the silence.

He met her gaze, though it felt like a challenge. “Sometimes. But I think you’re the one who gave up.”

The words hung in the air between them, and for a second, he regretted saying them. But he couldn’t take it back. He needed her to hear it, to understand that he wasn’t the only one responsible for this slow unraveling.

She didn’t flinch, just gave him this small, tired smile that made his stomach turn.

The waitress appeared with the check, setting it between them without a word. He reached for it, a reflex more than anything, but she stopped him with a gentle push of her hand.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, frowning.