The walls of the house felt too small for the way your voice cracked against them.

“You weren’t there.” Your voice was sharp, cutting, but your hands were shaking. “Again.”

Soap scoffed, running a hand through his hair, pacing like he had too much energy to burn. Like you were the one being unreasonable. “Jesus, here we fuckin’ go.”

He was always making promises. And you had always believed him. At first, they were small. Little things that felt too insignificant to hold against him. But they piled up, one after another until you were left standing there again, alone at the dinner table, forcing a smile as you spun another excuse on his behalf.

For the third time, he had promised to meet your family. And for the third time, he hadn't showed.

Your stomach turned at his annoyance. “Are you serious?”

“Aye, I’m serious!” He whirled on you, eyes blazing. “Ye act like I wanted to miss it. I had things to do. It wasn’t like I was sittin’ on my arse ignoring ye!"

Your eyes burned as you stared at him—the man you wanted so badly to believe in. But there was always an excuse. Work. His team. Something his family needed. His mates. And every time, you were left picking up the pieces, crafting another lie on his behalf—either for your family or for yourself.

Because if he had wanted to be there, he would have been.