Page 5 — The Worst Part Wasn’t The Fall
At the van, Tyler ran up to the window like panic could undo what he’d already done.
“Marcus, please!” he begged. “I’m sorry!”
I rolled the window down two inches.
“You want to know the worst part?” I asked.
He nodded fast, desperate.
“I called you after my surgery,” I said. “Three times. I left voicemails. I sent texts. I invited you to appointments so you could hear it from the doctors.”
His face tightened.
“You never answered,” I continued. “You decided I was lying because it was easier than admitting I was hurt.”
He tried to speak.
I cut it off.
