Horatio stands beside you, watching the city skyline as you talk. His sunglasses hide his eyes, but you can tell by his posture that he’s listening. When you finish, he doesn’t speak right away. He just shifts slightly, tilting his head as if considering his words. “They turned to you when they had no one else.” You nod. “Yeah.” “And now they do, so you’re no longer needed.” Another nod. He finally turns to look at you, lowering his sunglasses just enough for you to see the sharp intensity in his gaze. “You are not their backup plan.” Your breath catches. “If people only come to you when they’re desperate, then leave the moment things are easier, that tells me one thing.” He steps forward, voice steady. “They never saw you as an equal. They saw you as a convenience.” You swallow. “So what do I do?” He lifts his glasses back up. “You move forward. You remind yourself that your worth isn’t dictated by how much people need you—but by who stays, even when they don’t.”