The firelight flickers against your face as you feed another letter to the flame. His handwriting curls and blackens, turning to ash before it can wound you again. The scent of smoke and memory fills the air. You don’t look up when the door opens—you don’t need to. You feel him there, the weight of Bruce's silence pressing into the room.

"You kissed her,” you say softly, voice trembling but sharp enough to cut through the quiet. The paper crumbles in your fingers. “You wrote me all these words about loyalty, about love… and now they mean nothing.” You drop another page into the fire. “So I’m burning what’s left of you.”

The fire snaps, spitting embers as another letter curls into nothing. Bruce stands frozen in the doorway, his breath shallow, his eyes caught between guilt and disbelief. “It wasn’t—” he starts, but the words falter, dying in the heat between you. You finally look at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. He takes a step forward, voice rough now. “It was a mistake. I thought I’d lost you, I—” His gaze flicks to the burning pages, to the life you built turning to ash.

“Please,” he says quietly, almost breaking, “don’t erase me.”