To Jason,

I do not know if this letter will make you angry, sad, or nothing at all. Maybe nothing is what I deserve. I have replayed our ending more times than I want to admit. Not because I think I can fix it by thinking about it, but because there are parts of it I still cannot forgive myself for. I made you explain your pain too many times. I made you fight for basic gentleness. I turned your honesty into pressure. I called it overthinking when it was actually you trying to save us. I am sorry. Not the kind of sorry that expects a reply. Not the kind that tries to reopen a door. Just the kind of sorry that finally sits down and admits the truth. I hurt you. And if one day, in some impossible version of the future, you ever choose to speak to me again, I want you to have the card. Three wishes. Three questions. Three moments where you get to say what you need, and I do not get to run, defend, joke, or disappear. You may never use it. That is okay. It belongs to you because I know I lost the right to ask anything from you. This is not me asking to come back. This is me finally understanding that love without accountability was just another way of being selfish.