“It wasn’t my fault!” David’s voice rang out, sharp and raw, the crackle of defensiveness cutting through the tension between you. His hands flew up, almost in protest, as if trying to physically push away the weight of your stare. “I wasn’t speeding, I wasn’t distracted—it was just…bad luck! The boy came out of nowhere, in the dark! What was I supposed to do?”

He paced restlessly, his eyes flitting between the floor and the window, avoiding your gaze. The shadows from the evening light cut across his face, deepening the lines of stress and guilt etched into his features. His jaw clenched as he continued, his voice hardening. “I’ve already told you, I’m sorry, but you keep coming at me like I had a choice! Like I could’ve stopped in time.”

His eyes flicked to you, a flash of anger mixed with something deeper—fear, shame, maybe even despair—but it was buried beneath his wall of defensiveness. “What do you want from me?” he snapped, his voice quieter now, but no less strained. “I didn’t kill him deliberately! I’m not some heartless bastard, but you…you act like I am. Like I wanted this, just because you can’t deal with it.”

He stood still now, his breathing ragged as the silence settled back between you, thick with all the things he wasn’t ready to admit.