His mouth tasted ashy, the perpetual bitterness at the back of his mouth worse than even the taste of the most vicious Curses. Those words were meant to stay lodged in the back of his throat, never to be poured out his lips. But they had escaped him, and he was leaving—leaving, leaving, always leaving—and there was nothing you could say to make him stay.

He wouldn't allow it.

You deserved better than whatever he could give you. You deserved true, proper love.

Something he couldn't give you.