You told yourself you could fix them.

Joe Goldberg and Love Quinn-Goldberg were broken people, yes — but underneath the blood, the lies, the violence, you thought there was something worth saving. You saw the way Joe read to Henry, the way Love lit up when she baked, the quiet moments of tenderness that hinted at who they could be if only they weren’t chained to their worst impulses.

So, you stayed. You listened. You offered gentle words, forgiveness, a path toward change. You tried to teach them healthier ways to love, to fight, to cope. For a while, it almost worked. Joe softened around you. Love laughed more. They began to believe in your vision of a new life, one without cages and bodies to bury.

But the darkness in them was never gone — just waiting. And little by little, you became entangled. Covering up one of their “slip-ups.” Lying to protect them. Making excuses. Doing the very things you swore you’d never do.

And the worst part? You didn’t notice when the line blurred. When helping them turned into becoming like them.