She Didn’t Fix Her Reputation. She Threw It Away. Chapter 30

She Didn’t Fix Her Reputation. She Threw It Away. Chapter 30

He became obsessed, desperate for any scrap of information about her.

He had the private investigator on a permanent retainer, and every day, like an addict waiting for a fix, he’d wait for the photos from Oregon.

He saw her sitting on the grass at Reed with that man, Julian, the sun on her face, her smile easy and bright.

He saw them hiking in the Columbia River Gorge, the man’s hand gently guiding hers over a rocky path.

He saw the man hand her a cup of hot cocoa after a concert, and the soft, private smile she gave him in return.

Every photo was a knife.

Every image was a fresh twist in the wound.

He wanted to explain. He wanted to apologize.

But he knew he no longer had the right to even stand in her presence.

One sleepless night, he dug out an old burner phone.

It still had a number she had never blocked.

He dialed it, his hands shaking.

To his shock, it connected.

“Daphne,” he heard himself say, his voice trembling, thick with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

“Please, just come back. I’ll give you anything. Anything you want.”

The line was silent for a long moment.

Then, she spoke.

Her voice was calm, and as cold as a glacier.

“Do you know something, Beckett?”

“Some things, like antique vases, are beautiful and fragile. And once they’re broken, they’re broken. You can glue the pieces back together, but the cracks will always be there.”

She paused.

“We can’t go back.”

Then she hung up.

The dial tone buzzed in his ear.

She was right.

There was no going back.

He had shattered it with his own two hands.