Page 118 of Empty Net

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Not much.

Enough.

I keep going before courage becomes analysis.

"Not about being scared. I was scared. I still am. Not about hating the file. I hate it. I hate that my name is in places I can't control. I hate that some reporter learned enough to say recusal like he had the right. But I was wrong to put that on you."

Caleb's throat moves.

"You built the file because you were protecting me from you having power over me," I say. "And I used it like you built the thing that hurt me."

The sentence lands. Not cleanly. Nothing in the room is clean.

"I know you didn't leak it," I say. "I knew it yesterday. I said it like it didn't matter."

He looks down at his hands.

"It mattered," he says.

Two words. Quiet. No accusation. Worse.

"Yes."

"I wanted to tell you."

"I know."

"I need you to know that."

"I do."

"No," he says, and now his voice changes. Not loud. Less managed. "I need you to know it without making me prove it while you are hurting. Because I cannot keep turning my integrity into a case file every time fear tells you I am the safest person to blame."

There it is.

The line I earned.

I take it.

"You're right."

He laughs once, nothing like humor. "I hate that I am relieved you said that."

"I am too."

The room goes quiet.

The old version of me would reach for the nearest exit after that. The corrected sentence said. The apology delivered. Leave before the next thing asks for more.

I stay.

"I don't know how to be named by someone else and not turn into a weapon," I say.

Caleb looks at me.

"I don't either," he says. "But I know I can't be the target practice."

I nod.

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