During lunch, she finally speaks to me directly about something other than the project.
"I've been thinking about what you said. About your parents."
My heart rate spikes. "And?"
"And I want to see the proof. The emails, the texts. Whatever evidence you have."
"Okay. I can show you tonight?—"
"No. Now. I need to know if you're telling the truth or if this is just another manipulation."
I pull out my phone and open the folder I've kept for three years. Screenshots of text conversations with my mother. Emails outlining their demands. A voice recording from the night they gave me the ultimatum.
Handing my phone over to her.
She reads through everything silently. I watch her face change, shock, anger, something that might be understanding.
When she's done, she hands the phone back without a word.
"Ivy—"
"Not here. We'll talk tonight. After the presentations."
She walks away to join the other students, leaving me standing alone with my proof and my guilt and no idea if showing her helped or made things worse.
That evening, back at the hotel, we finally talk.
We're sitting on opposite sides of the bed, our usual positions now and Ivy is quiet for a long time.
"Your parents are monsters," she says finally.
"I know."
"And you should have told me. We could have fought them together."
"I was eighteen and terrified. I made the wrong choice."
"You did." She looks at me. "But I understand why you made it. That doesn't make it okay. But I understand."
"What does that mean? For us?"
"There is no us, Ethan. That ended three years ago when you chose them over me."
"I chose your family's survival?—"
"No. You chose the easy path. The one where you didn't have to stand up to them. The one where you hurt me to spareyourself conflict." Her voice is firm but not angry. "And I get it. You were young. Scared. In an impossible situation. But you still made a choice and that choice has consequences."
"So that's it? You understand but nothing changes?"
"What do you want me to say? That knowing the truth erases three years of pain? That I suddenly forgive you and we can go back to being friends?"
"I want—" I stop. What do I want? "I want a chance to prove I've changed. That I'm not that scared eighteen-year-old anymore. That I'd make a different choice now."
"Would you?"
"Yes. Absolutely. I'd tell them to go to hell and I'd protect you. Properly. Not by destroying you to save you."
She studies me for a long moment. "I believe you, but that doesn't mean I trust you. Trust has to be earned and you haven't earned it yet."