My hands are shaking.

There’s a ringing in my ears, and I can’t hear anything else. My breath is coming in short, ragged bursts, like I’ve just run a marathon. I feel sick. My vision’s hazy, like I’m underwater. But then it clears—and I see you, but I also see broken furniture around us and shattered glass.

You’re on the floor.

You’re not crying. You’re just looking up at me with this expression I’ll never forget. Not pain. Not even fear. Just disbelief. Like you never thought it would come to this. Like you didn’t think I could do this.

And maybe I didn’t either.

But your cheek is red. Already swelling. And I know, in that instant, that I’ve done something I can never take back.

I step forward, but you flinch. And that stops me cold.

“Baby…” My voice cracks, and I don’t even recognize myself. “I didn’t mean—fuck, I didn’t mean to…”

You don’t say anything. You slowly stand, steadying yourself like you’re dizzy. You won’t look at me. And that hurts more than anything.

I rack my brain trying to remember what I said, what you said, what flipped the switch—but it’s gone. There’s a black hole where the last ten minutes should be. All I remember is yelling. The sound of something crashing. Your voice, scared. Me, gone.

I promised you I’d never hurt you. I swore I’d never be that guy.

But now I am.

And there’s blood on my knuckles. And your skin. And I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t even know if I can.

Because this? This might be the moment I lose you for good. And if I do— I deserve it.