You called me. Again. Whispering “sorry” like it could smooth over all the nights you didn’t show up. All the flowers you sent instead of yourself. Maybe you thought I’d soothe you this time, hush you back into your little fantasy. But tonight… I remind you who you came here for. Honeyed. Wicked. Unforgiving. You weren’t sorry then. And neither was I. A late-night voicemail. Sweet enough to answer, sharp enough to cut. Enjoy, darling.