The apartment felt different ever since Taylor came back from her tour—colder, unfamiliar, like it wasn’t really home anymore. You had known for days, the words eating away at you like poison in your chest. One of your mutual friends had told you, hesitant but firm, that Taylor had been with someone else while she was away.

And now, she was here. Sitting on the couch, looking up at you with that face you had once thought incapable of hurting you.

“You’re quiet,” she said softly, shifting in her seat. “Are you okay?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. Am I okay?

The words felt like glass in your throat, but you forced them out. “How long were you gonna pretend like nothing happened?”

Taylor’s expression shifted—confusion at first, then realization, then something like guilt creeping in behind her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

You crossed your arms, your body tense, your voice shaking even though you told yourself you wouldn’t let it. “I know, Taylor. I know what you did on tour.”

Silence. A heavy, suffocating silence.

Her lips parted slightly like she wanted to deny it, to make an excuse, to spin a story that would make this hurt less. But nothing came. Because she knew. And you knew.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Wow. You’re not even going to try, huh?”

Taylor ran a hand through her hair, exhaling shakily. “I—”

“Don’t,” you cut her off. “Just don’t.”

She looked at you then, really looked at you, and you hated how much it still made your heart ache.

“I was lonely,” she admitted finally, barely above a whisper. “It didn’t mean anything. It was a mistake.”

Your jaw tightened. “A mistake?” Your voice cracked, the weight of everything pressing down on you all at once. “I was here. I was waiting for you. Loving you. And you chose to throw that away.”

Taylor’s eyes were glassy now, her fingers gripping the edge of the couch like she was trying to ground herself. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

Bullshit.