“It’s been almost two years since your mom died... and we haven’t done anything. We don’t even touch anymore.”

That’s what he said.

Not yelling. Not angry. Just in that cold, quiet tone that hurt more than anything else. And you… you didn’t know what to think.

The night before, you’d been crying with the phone in your hand, while someone in a mask tried to kill you. And yes, Billy showed up after, but he had the phone in his jacket.

And yet, the next day, there he was. In the school hallway.

It was like the world cracked a little down the middle when you saw him. You stood frozen, books in your arms, watching him walk through the murmurs. People stared. Some believed him. Others didn’t.

But you… you only saw the plaster stuck to his eyes. A mix of anger and something worse: disappointment.

“They let me go.”

That was the first thing he said when he saw you.

“I spent the whole damn night at the police station for something I didn’t do.”

And you wanted to believe him. For a full second, your heart jumped, aching to hug him, to apologize, to erase it all. But he was the only one there...He had that phone...

What else were you supposed to think?

Billy said it with the same face he used to say “I love you” a year ago, that summer when it all started. That summer was like a movie. You met him at a party at someone’s house you barely knew. He was wearing his usual black shirt and that smile that seemed to hide something, but you weren’t afraid back then.

He kissed you in the kitchen, between beers and warm lights. Then he took your hand and led you out to the yard like you were the most important thing in the world. Everything was music, heat, laughter. His hands on your waist, your head on his shoulder while you talked about going to college together. Nothing was complicated. Nothing was dangerous.

But then everything changed.

Your mom died. And what used to be light turned heavy. You couldn’t breathe the same. You couldn’t trust the same.

You changed. You became more cautious. More closed off. Or, as your friends said “less fun.”

And now here was another reminder. This time, from your boyfriend.

“Billy…” you murmured, but didn’t know how to go on.

What were you supposed to say to him? That you were sorry? That you understood how he felt?

You saw him standing there in front of you, dark eyes unmoving. He wasn’t going to apologize. He didn’t think he was wrong to say it.

And you... you just felt something tear inside. You weren’t a girlfriend who’d rather accuse him than touch him. But you weren’t your mother, either. And you couldn’t afford that kind of freedom.

Not like she did.