The prison gates loomed before Nathan like the mouth of a beast ready to swallow him whole. He was escorted by two guards, each step heavier than the last. He had thought of this moment a thousand times since the trial had ended—when he would finally face Sarah again. But now that the moment had come, he wasn't sure what to say. What words could possibly make up for what he had done?
The world outside the prison walls felt distant, almost unreal. He hadn't been able to escape the feeling of finality that had settled in his chest, and it only grew tighter as he was led to the visitation room. He had one last chance to see Sarah, one last chance to explain himself, to beg for her forgiveness, even though he knew deep down that no amount of words would ever undo the damage.
The room was stark, its white walls offering no comfort. A single table stood between them, the glass partition separating them like an invisible barrier that had always existed between them—only now, it was physically real. Nathan sat down, his eyes scanning the room. His heart pounded in his chest, and his breath felt shallow. He had thought of nothing but this moment for days, but now that he was here, he was at a loss for how to begin.
Then she walked in.
Sarah stepped through the door, her eyes downcast, her face pale and worn. The pain in her expression hit Nathan like a physical blow. She was different—her light, her warmth, the spark of the girl he had once known, it was all gone. In its place, there was only exhaustion and sorrow. She took a seat across from him, her fingers trembling as they rested on the edge of the table.
Nathan felt his throat tighten as their eyes met. He had thought about this moment constantly, rehearsed what he would say, but now that he was face-to-face with her, words seemed impossible.
"I'm sorry, Sarah," Nathan whispered, his voice barely audible, his chest tight with emotion. "I never wanted this. I never wanted to hurt you. I… I didn't mean for any of it to happen."
Sarah remained silent for a moment, her gaze unwavering as she looked at him through the glass. Her lips trembled, but she didn't speak. Instead, she simply stared at him, as if waiting for him to continue, to explain the unexplainable.
"I know I can never make it right," Nathan said, his voice cracking with the weight of his regret. "But I need you to know that I would give anything to go back and undo everything. I would give anything to have it all back—the way we were before… before all of this."
He leaned forward, pressing his hand against the glass, desperate for a connection, even if it was just through the cold, unfeeling barrier between them. "Please, Sarah. I'm so sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted to lose you, never wanted to hurt you. I—"
Sarah's eyes finally softened, but it wasn't with forgiveness. It was with a sadness that seemed to engulf everything in her. Her voice, when it came, was steady, but there was an undeniable tremor in it.
"I know you didn't mean to hurt me, Nathan," she said quietly. "But you did. And that's something I have to live with now. That's something that can never be undone."
Her words hit him like a slap, but he couldn't argue with them. He had hurt her in ways he could never fully comprehend. He had been so blinded by his feelings for her, by his jealousy, that he had lost sight of the person she truly was—the person he had once called his best friend.
"I—I understand," he murmured, nodding slowly. "I understand that I can't undo any of it. I know you'll never forgive me, and I can't expect you to. But I want you to know that I'm sorry—more than you can ever know."
Sarah wiped away a tear that had escaped down her cheek, her eyes downcast again. There was no anger in her, no hatred. Only sorrow—a sorrow that had become a part of her very being. The love she had once felt for Nathan had been replaced by something far more painful. The man who had once been her best friend was gone, and in his place was someone unrecognizable, someone who had taken the one person she had ever truly loved.
"Do you know what hurts the most, Nathan?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's not just the loss of Lewis. It's that I will never be able to go back to the way things were—before all of this. You were my friend, my confidant. You were the person I trusted above all else. And now you're someone I can never trust again."
The finality in her words pierced him deeply. She was right. The friendship they had once shared was gone, replaced by a void that would never be filled. He had destroyed everything, all because he couldn't let go of his feelings. And now, he had to live with that for the rest of his life.
"Sarah…" Nathan's voice faltered. "I never wanted to lose you. I never wanted to be this person."
But Sarah didn't look up. She didn't need to. The sadness in her eyes said it all.
"I have to go now, Nathan," she said, standing up slowly, her hands trembling as she adjusted the collar of her jacket. "I can't keep doing this. I can't keep waiting for you to change, for things to go back to the way they were. I have to move on. I have to live my life. And I can't do that with you in it."
Nathan's chest tightened as she turned to leave. This was it. This was the final goodbye. She was walking out of his life, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
"Goodbye, Nathan," she whispered, her voice breaking as she took one last look at him. Her gaze lingered, not with love, but with the kind of sadness that came only from a heart shattered by betrayal.
And then, she was gone.
Nathan sat there for a long time, long after she had left. His heart felt hollow, as if it had been emptied of everything. There would be no more chances for redemption, no more moments where he could undo the past. The price of his heart—the price of his obsession—was this: a life without the woman he loved, a life spent behind bars for the one mistake that had cost him everything.
As the guards came to take him back to his cell, Nathan didn't resist. There was no point. The woman he had once loved, the family he had once known, were gone. And now, he would spend the rest of his life paying the price.
---