You had already burned the letter, but the ashes were still on your hands when you stormed into the Gallagher kitchen. Lip didn’t even look up at first—beer in one hand, cigarette smoldering in the other, like he had no clue his world was about to explode.

You slammed the counter so hard the bottle rattled. “You fucking kept it. You kept her letter, Lip.”

His eyes darted up, sharp, cornered. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Don’t play with me.” You were shaking, but it wasn’t weakness—it was rage boiling over. “Karen. That pathetic little note. Hidden in your drawer like she still owns you. You told me it was over, but you’re still holding onto her like she’s worth more than me.”

Lip straightened, eyes flashing with something dangerous. “You went through my shit?”

“Yeah, I did.” You shoved him hard in the chest, the beer spilling over the counter. “Because you’ve been lying to my fucking face. You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t see how you look at her when she’s around?”

He grabbed your wrist, tight. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re saying.”

You yanked free, spitting the words like venom: “You lucky that at that party it was my friend who saw you. I was going to stick your face to the floor like my hair to my gloss.”

That got him. His nostrils flared, his jaw clenched, and for a moment he looked like he might break something—maybe you, maybe himself. “You’re insane. You’re fucking insane. Karen doesn’t mean shit to me anymore.”

“Then why was her letter still breathing in your drawer?”

Lip slammed his fist against the fridge so hard it rattled. “Because I forgot it was there! Because it doesn’t fucking matter!”

“It matters to me!” you screamed, throat raw. “It matters because every second I’m with you I feel like I’m fighting her ghost. And maybe I should’ve known better than to think I could win.”

That hit. His face twisted, cruel now, defensive turning into pure venom. “You’re acting like I’m the fucking villain, but you’re the one digging through my shit, burning things like some psycho ex who can’t handle reality.”

You laughed, sharp and broken. “Reality? Reality is that you never chose me. Not really. I’ve just been filling space where she used to be.”

His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “Don’t put this all on me. You think you’re perfect? You’re clingy, you’re suffocating, you pick fights like you need me to prove something every damn day. You want the truth? Half the time, I stay because I feel too guilty to leave.”

The words gutted you, and he saw it—but he didn’t stop.

“Karen was fucked up, but at least she didn’t stand here pretending she was some saint while tearing me apart piece by piece.”