Chapter 24 #2
His thumb brushes over the page. “And the groundwater contamination you threw in my face that first day? That wasn’t separate from the soil destruction.
It was part of the same process. Rare earth extraction uses acid leaching.
Sulfuric acid, hydrochloric acid, sometimes both.
We pump it into the ground to dissolve the minerals, then extract the solution.
Except the waste... the tailings... contain heavy metals, radioactive elements, residual acids.
We knew the containment ponds were failing.
Knew the waste was seeping into the aquifer.
But shutting down meant losing millions per day, so we kept operating while ‘investigating’ the problem. ”
Stop talking.
You’re breaking my heart.
He sets the book down carefully on the cushion beside him.
“So we didn’t just kill the fungal networks.
We poisoned the water table. Made the soil toxic.
Contaminated the entire watershed. Even if someone wanted to restore those ecosystems now, they’d have to remediate the chemical contamination first. Which would take decades.
Or longer. And cost more than we’ll ever pay in settlements. ”
“So yeah, Sorrel. I’m actually reading it.
And I understand it. And I understand exactly what kind of bastard it makes me that I let it happen anyway.
And yet I can’t help but wonder... is it.
.. is it really too late for me? Am I so far gone?
Or is there just enough of who I am deep down still left. .. that thirty percent...”
I have to look away because the tears are falling openly now and I don’t even know why I’m crying.
Is it because he’s sitting here reading my textbook and actually understanding the full extent of the damage he caused instead of making excuses?
Or am I crying about Brazil? About fungal networks that will never regenerate and water tables poisoned for decades and ecosystems so thoroughly destroyed they can’t even begin to heal?
Or maybe I’m crying because how? How does someone this brilliant, this capable of understanding complex ecological systems, this tender with me when I’m sleeping... how does someone like that make the choice to poison groundwater? To destroy everything irreparably for profit?
And how the hell did I fall in love with him anyway?
Because that’s what this is about, isn’t it? This ache in my chest. This desperate need to cross the room and hold him. This absolute terror that I’ve ruined everything.
I thought he was the villain. The corporate monster destroying the planet for money.
Except he’s not a monster. He’s just... human. Flawed and wounded and trying to carry the weight of choices he can’t unmake. And I’ve been treating him like he’s irredeemable when really--
Oh god.
I’m forgiving him.
That’s what’s happening right now. I’m watching him sit there, holding my textbook like it’s evidence at his own trial, looking absolutely devastated by what he’s learned, and I’m... I’m letting it go. The anger. The self-righteous fury.
Because he seems contrite. Because he wants to change. I can see it in every line of his body, in the way he’s absorbed every word of that paragraph like penance.
And maybe that makes me weak. Maybe a better environmental scientist would hold the line, would refuse to forgive, would--
Fuck that.
I don’t want to be right anymore.
I want to be with him.
I want to help him be better.
I want to believe that people can change, that thirty percent remaining can regenerate into something whole again.
Even if the people who need that belief most are us.
I quickly wipe away the tears and look at him again. He’s returned his attention to my book, probably trying to give me privacy while I have my emotional breakdown.
So I just sit there, watching him from across the room. This brilliant, wounded man I pushed away because I was terrified.
Because I convinced myself we were impossible.
Because choosing safe over scary has been my default setting since forever.
Do something, you coward.
Say something.
Fix this.
Make things right.
I get up. My legs are shaky. I cross the distance that feels like miles and kneel beside the sectional.
“Gregory.” My voice cracks. “I don’t want to leave on bad terms.”
He finally looks at me. His eyes are devastated. Red-rimmed. He looks like he’s been crying himself.
God, what have I done to him?
“I’m... I’m sorry.” The words pour out. “I panicked. I got scared and I said terrible things. You’ve kept asking if I’m okay.
.. on the roof, after the cougar, when I’m cold, when I’m scared.
And you know what I realized? No one’s asked me that in years.
No one’s cared enough to notice when I’m not okay. ”
His expression is unreadable.
I push forward. “I’ve spent my whole life being practical.
Choosing the safe path, the logical path.
Scholarships over relationships. Research over Jake.
Proving myself over being happy. And where has it gotten me?
Alone in a lab, working myself to death, convinced I have to earn my right to exist.”
I swallow, forcing myself to continue, even if it’s probably a really bad idea.
“I’m terrified because I don’t know how to have this.
How to deserve this. How to make this work when everything about us is impossible.
” My voice breaks completely. “But I know I don’t want to lose it.
I don’t want to lose you. And... I want you to know.
.. I forgive you. For the mining. For the damage. I’ll always forgive you.”
I’m crying again now. Full ugly crying, right in front of him.
“And I also just wanted to say... it’s not too late.
You can heal. I’ve seen who you are. Past all the wealth.
All the insecurities. All the guilt. You.
Gregory. I know you can change. I know you will change.
Will heal. But... please tell me that we can figure this out.
Us out. Tell me it’s not too late for us. ”
The silence stretches. He’s just looking at me with those blue eyes that have seen me at my worst and my best and everything in between.
Say something.
Please say something.
Anything.
“Gregory--”