Updated Feb 18, 2026 • ~5 min read
WILLA
Two weeks.
Two weeks since I walked away from Archer.
Lennox says I’m being stubborn.
Sierra says I’m being smart.
My therapist says I’m processing trauma.
I think I’m just… heartbroken.
I moved back to my apartment.
Against FBI advice.
But Malcolm’s been quiet.
No sightings. No threats. Nothing.
Like he disappeared.
The FBI has agents watching me.
Not Archer.
Different agents.
Rotating shifts.
Professional. Polite. Distant.
Safe.
But lonely.
Archer has called forty-seven times.
I counted.
I haven’t answered.
He’s sent texts too.
“Please talk to me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I love you.”
“I understand if you hate me.”
“Just please be safe.”
I don’t hate him.
That’s the problem.
I love him.
Still.
Despite everything.
But love isn’t enough when there’s no trust.
Lennox visits on day ten.
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Some.”
“Slept?”
“Not really.”
She makes me soup.
Forces me to eat.
“You need to talk to him.”
“No.”
“Willa—”
“He lied to me, Lennox. Made me bait without telling me. Put my life at risk for an operation.”
“He also saved your life. Multiple times.”
“That doesn’t excuse the lying.”
“No. But it counts for something.”
I don’t answer.
“Do you love him?”
“That’s not the point.”
“That’s exactly the point. Do you?”
I look at her.
“Yes.”
“Then talk to him. Hear him out. Maybe you’ll still walk away. But at least you’ll know you tried.”
Maybe she’s right.
But I’m not ready.
Day fourteen.
I’m grading papers when someone knocks.
I check the peephole.
Archer.
My heart jumps.
I don’t open the door.
“Willa. I know you’re there. Please. Just five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
I should walk away.
Ignore him.
But I can’t.
I open the door.
He looks terrible.
Thinner. Dark circles. Haunted eyes.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
Awkward silence.
“Can I come in?”
I hesitate.
Then step aside.
He enters.
Looks around.
Like he’s memorizing every detail.
“You look good,” he says.
“You look like shit.”
“Fair.”
More silence.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally. “I’m so fucking sorry. I should have told you. About the operation. About being bait. You deserved to know.”
“Yes. I did.”
“I was following orders. Operational security. But that’s not an excuse. You deserved the truth.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? After we got together? After you retired? You could have told me then.”
He runs a hand through his hair.
“Because I was scared. Scared you’d leave. Scared you’d hate me. Scared I’d lose you.”
“So instead you let me find out from Tobias.”
“I fucked up. I know. And I’m sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing if you’ll let me.”
His voice breaks.
“I love you, Willa. I know I don’t deserve you. I know I violated your trust. But I love you. And I’m begging you to give me another chance.”
I want to.
God, I want to.
But—
“How do I know you won’t lie to me again?”
“You don’t. You just have to trust me.”
“That’s the problem, Archer. I don’t.”
Direct hit.
He flinches.
“Then what do I do? How do I fix this?”
“I don’t know if you can.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Painful.
“If I could go back,” he says quietly, “I would tell you everything. From the beginning. I would give you the choice. And if you walked away, I’d respect that. But I can’t go back. I can only go forward. And I’m asking—begging—for you to go forward with me.”
I want to say yes.
But the hurt is still too fresh.
“I need more time.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know.”
“Days? Weeks?”
“I don’t know, Archer.”
He nods.
Defeated.
“Okay. I’ll wait. However long it takes.”
He walks to the door.
Pauses.
“For what it’s worth, everything between us was real. My feelings. My love. Everything except the truth about the operation. The rest was real.”
Then he leaves.
I close the door.
Slide down against it.
And cry.
Because I love him.
But I don’t trust him.
And I don’t know how to fix that.
ARCHER
She won’t forgive me.
I can see it in her eyes.
I fucked up.
Irreparably.
Tobias finds me at a bar.
Day fifteen.
“Drinking won’t help.”
“Can’t hurt.”
“Actually, it can. Malcolm’s still out there.”
“I know.”
“And you’re his primary target.”
“I know that too.”
He sits beside me.
“She loves you.”
“She doesn’t trust me.”
“Trust can be rebuilt.”
“How? I lied to her. Used her. Put her in danger.”
“You also saved her. Protected her. Loved her.”
I drain my glass.
“Not enough.”
Tobias signals the bartender.
“Two more.”
We drink in silence.
“What if I can’t fix this?” I ask.
“Then you accept it and move on.”
“I don’t want to move on.”
“Then fight for her.”
“I tried. She needs time.”
“So give her time. But don’t give up.”
He’s right.
But time feels impossible when every day without her is agony.
My phone buzzes.
Text from Marcus.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Want company?”
“Not really.”
“Too bad. I’m coming over.”
Thirty minutes later, Marcus shows up at my apartment.
Takes one look around.
“You’re living like a depressed college student.”
“I am depressed.”
“And wallowing.”
“Also yes.”
He starts cleaning.
Dishes. Laundry. Trash.
“Stop it. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re a mess.”
“She won’t forgive me.”
“Did she say that?”
“She said she doesn’t trust me.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
I sit on the couch.
Defeated.
“What do I do, Marcus?”
“You give her space. You fix yourself. And when she’s ready, you prove you’ve changed.”
“How?”
“By being honest. Completely honest. About everything. No more secrets. No more operations. Just you and her.”
Easier said than done.
But maybe he’s right.
Maybe I need to prove I’m worthy of her trust.
Before I can ask for it back.
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