It happens late at night.

You and Addison are at your apartment, sitting across from each other, both drained from the weight of the past few days. The grief sits thick between you, unspoken but suffocating. The wine bottle on the table is half-empty, though neither of you feel any less raw.

She sighs, rubbing her temple. “I keep thinking… what if I had called him that day? What if I had reached out?”

You scoff before you can stop yourself. “Yeah, well. Maybe if you never cheated on him, none of this would’ve happened.”

The words land like a slap. Addison’s head snaps up, her eyes wide with hurt before they narrow in anger. “Excuse me?”

You don’t back down. “If you never ruined things between you two, maybe he wouldn’t have left New York. Maybe he wouldn’t have ended up in Seattle, in that OR, in that car. Maybe he’d still be alive.”

Her jaw clenches. “You think this is my fault?”

“I think you blew up his life.” Your voice shakes, but you push forward, the grief twisting into something sharp and ugly. “And now he’s gone, and we can’t fix it.”

Addison stands abruptly, knocking over her chair. “You act like I was the only one who hurt him,” she snaps. “Like you didn’t disappear from his life too.”

Your stomach twists. “That’s not—”

“You left him here alone,” she cuts in, voice rising. “You think I ruined his life? What about you? What about all the times you could’ve picked up the phone? You could’ve visited more. You could have been here for him.”

Your hands curl into fists. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is blaming me for something that happened years ago.” Her voice cracks, and you can see it now—the raw, unbearable grief lurking beneath her anger.

You’re both breathing hard, eyes glossy, shoulders tense. The silence stretches, thick with resentment and pain.

Then, Addison takes a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “I loved him.”