Chapter 13
POV: AMBER?
Maria blinked, confusion flickering across her face.
Xander went completely still beside me.
“You… didn’t—” she started, looking between us now, something dawning too late. “I thought you knew—”
I turned to him.
Slowly.
Too slowly.
Like if I moved any faster, I might shatter.
My mouth felt dry.
My chest tight.
“You broke up with me…” I said, my voice unsteady, “because your mom was sick?”
His name didn’t come out.
Just the accusation.
The disbelief.
The crack.
His jaw tightened.
“Amber—”
“You never told me that.”
My voice rose, just a little.
Enough.
Enough for the panic to start creeping in.
Enough for everything we built in the last hours to start splintering.
“You never told me anything.”
The hope I had felt just minutes ago twisted into something sharp and unbearable.
Because suddenly—
None of it felt real anymore.
My fingers slipped from his.
I didn’t even feel it happen.
One second I was holding on—
The next, I wasn’t.
I took a step back.
Then another.
Space.
I needed space.
Air.
Something.
Because whatever this was—this pressure inside my chest—it was too much. Too fast. Too sudden.
I couldn’t process it.
I couldn’t breathe through it.
“You told me they were okay.”
My voice didn’t sound like mine.
Too quiet.
Too empty.
Xander went still.
“You told me your parents were fine,” I repeated, my chest tightening with every word. “You looked at me and said everything was okay.”
“Amber—”
“What did she have?” I cut in, my voice rising now, cracking under the pressure building inside me. “What was it?”
Silence.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
His jaw tightened.
“…Cancer.”
The word hit like a physical blow.
I staggered back a step.
“Oh my God…”
My hand flew to my mouth, my vision blurring.
“And she—” My voice broke. “She got better, right?”
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t even breathe.
And that—
That was my answer.
My stomach dropped.
Cold. Empty. Hollow.
“Xander…” My voice came out in a whisper now. “Did she—”
“She died,” he said.
Quiet.
Flat.
Like the word had been buried inside him for too long.
The world tilted.
“When?” I forced out.
His eyes met mine.
And I knew.
I knew before he said it.
“That same year.”
Something inside me snapped.
Not cracked.
Not broke.
Snapped.
A broken sound tore out of me, something between a laugh and a sob.
“You didn’t tell me.”
The words came out raw. Disbelieving.
“You let me walk away thinking you just didn’t love me enough to stay.”
His face twisted.
“I was trying to—”
“To what?” I snapped, my voice rising, shaking now. “Grieve alone? Protect me? Or just make sure I never had a chance to be there for you?”
Silence.
Heavy. Crushing.
“You decided for me,” I said, my chest heaving now. “You decided I didn’t get to know. I didn’t get to help. I didn’t get to love you through it.”
My voice broke hard on the last word.
“Do you have any idea what that does to someone?”
Xander took a step toward me.
“Amber, I can explain—”
“No.”
The word came out sharper than I expected.
Stronger.
Like it cut through everything between us.
I shook my head, backing away again.
“No, don’t—don’t do that.”
His brows pulled together, panic flashing across his face.
“Do what?”
“Don’t come closer like that,” I said, my voice trembling now. “Don’t say my name like that. Don’t—” My breath hitched. “Don’t act like you get to explain this.”
“Amber, please—”
“You left me.”
The words broke out of me.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
“You left me twice.”
He flinched.
Actually flinched.
And something inside me twisted even tighter.
“I begged you to talk to me,” I went on, my voice rising despite myself. “I asked you what was wrong, what I did, what happened—and you just—” I let out a breath that felt like it tore out of me. “You just ended it.”
His jaw tightened.
“I was trying to—”
“To what?” I snapped. “Protect me?”
The word tasted bitter in my mouth.
“Is that what this is?” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You broke me to protect me?”
His eyes darkened.
“You don’t understand—”
“You’re right,” I cut him off, my voice shaking now. “I don’t.”
And that was the worst part.
I didn’t.
All those years.
All that pain.
And now this?
This explanation dropped in the middle of a random conversation by someone else?
Like it was nothing?
Like it wasn’t the thing that destroyed me?
I shook my head again, harder this time, like I could physically push it away.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered.
“Amber—”
“I can’t.”
My chest felt tight, my vision blurring.
Everything we had just said.
Everything we had just done.
The night.
The morning.
The I love you.
It all felt like it was collapsing in on itself.
Like it had never been real to begin with.
“You don’t get to come back into my life,” I said, my voice breaking now, “say that you love me, that you never stopped—and then drop something like this on me like it’s just—just another detail.”
“I wasn’t going to tell you like this,” he said, his voice rough.
“Oh, I know,” I shot back. “You weren’t going to tell me at all.”
That hit.
I saw it land.
But it didn’t matter.
Nothing did.
Because the damage was already there.
It had always been there.
“I need time,” I said, my voice quieter now, but no less firm. “I need—” I shook my head. “I need space.”
He stepped closer again, more desperate now.
“Don’t walk away like this.”
A hollow laugh escaped me.
“Like what?” I asked. “Like you did?”
His face fell. I saw his eyes glossy with tears.
And for a second—just a second—I hated that it hurt him.
Because it didn’t compare.
It would never compare.
I took another step back.
Putting distance between us.
Between what we had just rebuilt.
Between what I had almost believed again.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You don’t get to do this again.”
His voice softened.
“Amber… don’t.”
But I was already pulling away.
Already choosing.
“You left me,” I said, my throat tight, my eyes burning. “Twice.”
The words came out steadier this time.
Stronger.
“And I stayed.”
That was the truth that hurt the most.
“I stayed,” I repeated, my voice dropping. “I waited. I tried to understand. I tried to move on and I couldn’t, because it was always you.”
His eyes closed briefly, like the words physically hit him.
“And now?” I let out a shaky breath. “Now I’m choosing me.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Final.
“Don’t look for me,” I said softly.
His head snapped up.
“Amber—”
“Don’t.”
My voice didn’t break this time.
“Just… let me go.”
The irony almost made me laugh.
But I didn’t.
Because this time—
This time, I was the one walking away.
And I didn’t stop.