---- Chapter 22 Ethan did not give up. He couldn't. His obsession was a fire in his blood, and my rejection was the fuel that made it burn hotter. He began a new campaign, a twisted courtship designed to win me back. He sent flowers to my shop every day, extravagant bouquets that filled the small space with a cloying, funereal scent. He sent diamonds, designer clothes, cars. The gifts would arrive with no note, just a silent, arrogant assumption that his wealth could erase his sins. | sent everything back. He tried to buy the town. "What do | have to do, Sarah?" he asked, his voice raw. "I'll do ---- anything. Punish me. Humiliate me. Do to me what | did to you. I'll take it. Just... come back to me." "There is no punishment you could devise that would undo the damage you've done," | told him, my voice devoid of emotion. "The scars you left on my soul are permanent. You can't fix what you've broken, Ethan." "| will never forgive you," | said, the words a final, irrevocable judgment. "Not for what you did to Lily. Not for what you did to my grandmother. And not for what you did to me." Tears welled in his eyes. Real tears. "| was afraid," he whispered, the confession torn from him. "I was so afraid of losing you. | know it's no excuse. But when | was hurting you... it hurt me too. Every time." He told me about the night he'd found out | was "dead." He had planned to apologize, to beg for my forgiveness. He had bought my favorite pastries. A pathetic, belated gesture. He was crying openly now, his shoulders shaking. "Please, Sarah," he begged, his voice choked with sobs. "Give me another chance. I'll be different. I'll give you anything you want. Freedom. Space. Anything." | looked at him, at this broken, powerful man, and for the first time, | felt a flicker of pity. But pity was not love. And it was not enough. "You can't change, Ethan," | said, my voice gentle but firm. "Your need for control is a part of you. It's a sickness. And | ---- will not be your cure. You need a doctor, not a wife." He stared at me, his last hope dying in his eyes. He seemed to understand then. He nodded slowly, a strange look of resolve on his face. "You're right," he said. "| am sick. But | will get better. I'll find the best doctors, the best therapists. | will cure myself. And | will do it for you." He still didn't get it. He was still doing it for me, not for himself. His obsession had simply found a new form. "| will be back, Sarah," he vowed, his eyes burning with a renewed fire. "And | will be the man you deserve." He turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the twilight, a cold wind blowing through the street. | knew this was not the end. It was just a new, more insidious beginning.