I don't know how many minutes or hours have passed, but somewhere in the middle of her breakdown and my mental meltdown, I carried her to the recliner with me, where she curled up on my lap and sobbed into my chest like she had never cried before.
I had been lying to myself that I didn't want her anymore. And then I saw her again and again, then I started longing to hold her in my arms. But not like this. Not when she's so broken—not when I'm broken. Not when all I could do is literally just wrap my arms around her tight, stroking her hair, and laying my lips on her head, wishing I could go back to the past and undo so many things.
Because what should I say, really? That I'm fucking sorry? I don't think that's enough.
