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“I fucked up.”

“Yes.”

No hesitation.

No making this easier for him.

“You did.”

“I believe you.”

A tear slips down my cheek.

“Now you do.”

“Layla—”

“Now that I've explained myself. Now that I've proven my innocence to you.”

“You don't have to prove anything.”

“But I already did.”

That's what hurts.

I press my fingers against my eyes.

“You made me guilty first.”

“I was angry and scared.”

“So am I!”

The words rip out of me.

“I was scared yesterday when Myrna told me everything. I was scared when you didn't answer me. I was scared when I started realizing I had no idea what we were doing or what I was to you.”

My voice drops.

“And I still didn't assume the worst about you.”

That finally silences him.

Because that's the difference.

I was handed information that made Mitchell look like a manipulative bastard.

And I checked the facts.

He was handed information that made me look like a liar.

And he convicted me.

“I-I need some space.”

“No.”

My heart squeezes.