~Zayn's POV~
The refined mask he wore began to crumble, but I was too far gone in my own pain to care.
"I didn't plan to forgive you, and I'm still not planning to," I spat, the words fueled by a decade of suppressed rage. "Because let's be honest, if you weren't dying, you wouldn't even remember you had children. You only came to find us because you're terrified of what's on the other side of that surgery. You only care now because you've run out of time."
He didn't interrupt. He didn't offer a single excuse. He sat there and let me tear into him, his silence a heavy admission of guilt. Tears blurred his eyes, spilling over and tracing the lines of a face I had tried so hard to forget. He took every word, every insult, like a man accepting a death sentence.
