Logan ambushed me as I left the clinic, lingering near the back door with his hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets. His sudden appearance caught me off guard, leaving me torn between fleeing and hearing him out.
“Emma,” he whispered, taking a step closer, his eyes pleading. “Please, I need to talk to you.”
I crossed my arms, attempting to maintain a safe distance. “What's left to say, Logan? You're having a baby with Vanessa. How much more do I need to know?”
He winced at my words, his blue eyes brimming with guilt.
“It wasn't like that,” he protested, his voice laced with desperation. “It was one night, Emma. One mistake. I didn't even know until she told me.”
“You didn't know, but you knew it happened,” I retorted, my voice sharper than I intended, the anger and hurt simmering beneath the surface.
He launched into a detailed explanation, recounting how Vanessa had come to him in tears after the situation with Professor Mitchell, seeking comfort. But as they consoled each other, things had spiraled out of control. His voice cracked as he struggled to justify the unjustifiable.
“We used protection,” he stammered. “I still don't understand how this happened.”
My heart ached at the raw pain etched on his face, but I couldn't shake off the fury and resentment festering inside me. “You can't undo it, Logan,” I said, my tone cold, detached. “And you can't fix us by calling it a mistake.”
“I don't want to lose you,” he whispered, his desperation palpable, his eyes welling up with tears.
For a fleeting moment, I almost believed him. Almost.
The memory of Logan's confession haunted me for days, replaying like a stuck record in my mind. He'd labeled it a mistake, begged for forgiveness, but how could I pardon him when the truth felt like a dagger lodged in my chest?
But then, a darker thought crept in—one I couldn't ignore. I had committed the same sin. I'd been with Caleb. Twice. And for a time, I'd even believed I was carrying his children.
How could I condemn Logan for one lapse in judgment when I was guilty of so much more? The irony was crippling.
Except it wasn't equal. The pain we'd inflicted on each other wasn't something you could measure or compare. It was infinite. Every betrayal, every lie, every moment of weakness—it all added up, crushing us under its weight.