Daniel didn't wait for me outside the studio.
He waited by the lake.
The same place we used to sit when everything felt easy.
When problems were exams and not people.
He was standing when I approached.
Hands in his pockets.
Shoulders tight.
He didn't look angry.
He looked hollow.
"That was fast," he said quietly.
"I came as soon as I saw your message."
He nodded once.
Silence stretched between us, fragile and raw.
"So," he said finally, "you slept with him."
There was no accusation in his tone now.
Just confirmation.
"Yes."
He closed his eyes briefly.
"And you didn't tell me."
"No."
"Would you have?"
I hesitated.
He noticed.
"That's what I thought."
The honesty hurt him more than shouting ever could.
"I didn't know how," I said softly.
"You didn't try."
"I was ashamed."
"Of what?"
"Of hurting you."
He laughed once, but it wasn't humor.
"You were ashamed of hurting me, so you kept hurting me."
The logic was brutal.
I didn't argue.
