It had been like a week since you and Emily had your messy break up and she couldn’t remember it but it also couldn’t leave her mind, making her remember everything.

The details of the argument were hazy but, she remembered the way everything spiraled out of control. You were washing dishes when it began, the sharp words exchanged, the heated back and forth, and most vividly, the plate that slipped from your hands, shattering and cutting you as you tried to clean it up. She had tried to apologize, tried to help as you cleaned the mess, but in the end, you pushed her away and told her to leave. She left your apartment that night, the tension thick and unresolved, leaving you both on bad terms.

After that night, you shut her out completely. Her every attempt she made to reach you—whether it was through voicemails, emails, or even mutual friends—was met with silence. She tried to apologize, to explain, but your lack of response made it clear that you wanted nothing more to do with her. Days turned into weeks, and the distance between you two grew wider, leaving her to accept what she dreaded most: it was over. Whatever you had shared, whatever connection you’d built, seemed irreparably broken. At least, that’s what you believed.

Maybe it was the alcohol buzzing through Emily’s veins after the team’s post-case celebration at the bar, but somehow, against all logic, she found herself standing on your doorstep, her fist hovering hesitantly over the door.

She softly knocked, the sound barely audible in the silence of the night. She rocked nervously back and forth, she fought the urge to turn and leave before you even opened the door.

When the door swung open and she came face to face with you, she began to speak, words tumbling out of her mouth in a rush, before you had the chance to react.

“Please,” Emily began, her voice unsteady but earnest. “Just hear me out. Give me two minutes. If you still want me to leave after that, I will, and i promise you’ll never have to hear from me again.” her eyes wide and pleading