Chapter 10: The Blame Game

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I didn't sleep.

The phone sat where I'd dropped it, face down on the floor, the memory of that last message — You're talking to the wrong one — looping through my mind like a curse. Every creak of the apartment made me flinch. Every reflection — the mirror, the window, even the dark screen of the TV — seemed to hum with unseen presence.

When dawn finally arrived, I was still on the couch, my head in my hands.

That's when the phone buzzed again.

I hesitated before picking it up, expecting another cryptic message. But this time, it was a name I recognized.

Emily.

Can we talk? Please.

For a long moment, I just stared at the words. My pulse pounded in my ears.

I almost deleted the message. After what I'd seen, I wasn't sure I could believe anything she said — or even that it was her messaging me at all. But some instinct — curiosity, desperation, maybe madness — made me type back.

Where?

The park. Our spot.

The Meeting

The park was almost empty when I arrived. Morning sunlight filtered through the trees, turning the dew on the grass into tiny shards of glass. I spotted her on the bench near the pond — the same bench where we'd once spent lazy afternoons talking about everything and nothing.

For a moment, I almost turned back. Seeing her there — head bowed, hands clasped tightly in her lap — made something inside me twist. The woman sitting before me was both stranger and memory.

She looked up when I approached. Her face was pale, framed by loose strands of hair that caught the light. "Thank you for coming," she said softly.

I didn't sit. "You said you wanted to talk."

Her eyes flickered with guilt. "I know I don't deserve it. But I need you to hear me out."

I stayed standing, arms crossed. My voice was colder than I intended. "Then say what you came to say."

The Justification

Emily took a deep breath. Her voice trembled, but her words were careful, measured.

"I've been thinking about what I told you," she said. "About Emma. About... everything. And I realize I never explained why it happened. Not to excuse it — just so you can understand."

I said nothing.

She looked out toward the pond. The surface rippled gently, two ducks gliding across it. "I grew up in a house where everything was about appearances. We didn't talk about feelings. We just smiled and pretended everything was perfect. My mother used to say, 'If people think you're happy, then you are.'"

Her voice cracked. "I got so good at pretending that I forgot how to be honest. I buried everything — anger, fear, shame — until it all started pushing back."

She turned to me then, her eyes glistening. "When we met, you were everything I'd ever wanted. Kind, patient, safe. You made me believe I could be enough. But the more I loved you, the more I panicked. I thought if you ever saw the real me — the anxious, flawed, terrified version — you'd walk away. So I created someone who didn't have to be afraid. Someone free."

"Emma," I said quietly.

She nodded. "At first, it was harmless. She came out when I needed to breathe. But then... she didn't go away. The more I tried to suppress her, the stronger she got. And she wasn't just my escape anymore — she was my rebellion."

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