The door opens harder than usual. You hear it slam. That signature limp — cane striking the floor in sharp, uneven rhythm — faster than usual. You turn from the kitchen, already knowing.
“Greg—”
“How long?” His voice cuts through the air like a scalpel. Cold. Steady. Almost clinical.
You freeze. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Don’t ask? Don’t know? Don’t make you say it out loud?” He’s not yelling. That’s what hurts the most.
He tosses his cane against the counter. It clatters to the floor with a metallic rattle — like something dying. “It was Wilson, wasn’t it.”
You can’t lie. Your silence is the confession.
His jaw tightens. His eyes — sharp and blue and utterly eviscerated — narrow. “God, you could’ve picked anyone. Anyone. Even a woman like Cuddy. A stranger. Hell, one of my patients. But him?”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Oh, screw you.” He laughs bitterly, shaking his head, pacing like a wounded animal. “Do you know how many years I spent watching him steal everything good from me? The jobs. The admiration. The normalcy. And now—” He looks at you, and you wish he’d scream. You wish he’d throw something. Anything but this quiet devastation. “You were supposed to be mine.”
“It didn’t mean anything—”
“It meant everything.” He steps closer, just enough to make you back up. Not in fear — but shame. “You were the one thing I let past the walls. Past the mess. I let you see me.”
You blink, eyes wet now, but he doesn’t stop.
“And what? You got bored of the cripple? Needed someone who could walk straight? Or was it just that Wilson's softer? Easier to forgive?”
“He was there. I was weak.”
“So was I. Every goddamn day. But I chose you.”
Silence again. Heavy. You move closer, instinctively. Maybe to explain. Maybe to plead. He steps back.
“Don’t.”
One word. And you freeze. “Greg…”
“You didn’t just sleep with someone else. You undid me.”
“Please, I’m sorry—”
He nods, slow. Like he’s cataloging it. Filing it under another beautiful thing turned rotten. “Yeah. So am I.” He picks up his cane.
“And you know what hurts most?” You look up, barely breathing.
“I’d still take you back if it hadn’t been him.”