Jerica's hand shot up, a firm barrier between them, her voice cutting through the tension with steely resolve. "Harry, enough!"
Harold's eyes, wide and desperate, locked onto hers. For a fleeting second, it was as if he truly saw her—not the girl he had once loved, but the woman she had become. A woman who had survived without him.
His shoulders sagged, the intensity in his gaze dissolving into something hollow. He slumped back into his seat, his grip on her arm loosening as though he had finally run out of fight. Harold looked broken, his defeat apparent.
Jerica inhaled sharply, straightening her back, trying to calm the wild thudding of her heart. Words felt unnecessary now. The truth had settled between them like a wall—there was no going back to whatever thread Harold had been clinging to.
