He looked down at his scuffed leather shoes.

“I destroyed everything. I was so incredibly stupid.” “No,” I corrected, my voice cold and even.

“Stupid is forgetting to pay the water bill. Stupid is leaving the garage door open. What you did was methodical. It was calculated. It was deliberate.”

He flinched as if I’d struck him. “I don’t even know how I mutated into that person.” I actually believed him in that moment. Not because I thought he was innocent, but because true monsters are rarely born overnight.

People incinerate their lives one tiny, justified compromise at a time. They only recognize the monster in the mirror when the smoke finally clears. “I genuinely hope you figure it out,” I said, adjusting my grip on my briefcase.

He looked up, a pathetic glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Do you think, maybe years from now… you’ll ever be able to forgive me?” I looked at him, and a montage played in my mind.